


The Bittersweet Between My Teeth

by curds_and_wheyface



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe RPF, Thor (Movies) RPF
Genre: Abduction, Alternate Universe, Captivity, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Tom is seventeen, Violence, Voyeurism, dub-con, feral!Chris, humping, not an a/b/o fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-07
Updated: 2015-04-11
Packaged: 2018-03-21 15:25:24
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 33,233
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3697337
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/curds_and_wheyface/pseuds/curds_and_wheyface
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Feral!Chris fic. Kidnapped and thrown into a cage with an unmedicated alpha, Tom is certain he's about to die.</p><p>'But then the alpha pulls back, squints curiously down at Tom through his cascade of wild hair and realisation hits Tom like a freight train, knocking the wind out of him. He’d know those eyes anywhere. The alpha is Chris.'</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Animal

**Author's Note:**

> Chris is described as an 'alpha' in this but it's not an a/b/o fic - it's just the term I've used to describe the outcasts in this society who are born with hormones that give them animalistic urges.
> 
> Thanks to my friends [umakoo](http://archiveofourown.org/users/umakoo), [cunninglingus](http://archiveofourown.org/users/cunninglingus), [furiedheart](http://archiveofourown.org/users/furiedheart), [sheilatakesabow](http://sheilatakesabow.tumblr.com/) and [loki-on-mjolnir](http://archiveofourown.org/users/basalganglia/pseuds/loki-on-mjolnir) for being the best cheerleaders and hand-holders.
> 
> This is complete and will be posted throughout the week.

Day One 

There's been a mistake. Tom tries to tell them but the sack over his head muffles the sound, his voice swallowed up into the rough material that chafes his lips when he tries to talk. His hands are zip-tied behind his back and his ankles are somehow attached to those, leaving him unable to do anything but wriggle wildly on his side like a fish left to die on land.

Kidnappings aren't so unusual. It's a product of society, his mother always says, and though it never seemed like a good enough excuse to Tom he had been forced to accept it. Liam's family had been forced to accept it when their middle son was taken, when their local rallies and demands for change garnered them nothing but death threats. Tom had known Chris well, had been fastened to Liam like a barnacle from the day the Hemsworths moved into town, and growing up together they had endured not only Chris' relentless teasing but also his fierce protection.

They'd watched him grow tall - a foot taller than every other fifteen year old in the area - and had been warned against engaging him in any play fights. There were blonde hairs on his chest that Liam teased him for and he got annoyed whenever Tom stared overlong at the thick muscles of his shoulders.

Tom hadn't known why until Chris was gone. Hadn't put two and two together.

Those people had always been 'other' to Tom, unknown, creatures he would never meet, dangerous unless controlled by pills and therefore creatures he would never _want_ to meet. Until Chris' face was on the local news wearing the label.

_Alpha. Kidnapped by vigilantes. A lost cause._

It's been years since Chris disappeared and Tom, shamefully, hasn't thought about him in some time. He's long dead, and soon the same might be true of Tom.

But Tom isn't alpha, not even close, and his freedom to walk unhindered through the city with little to no worry for his personal safety is something he's always taken for granted - until now. He struggles more, twists his hands until the fastenings over his wrists cut into his skin.

"You've made a mistake!" He yells again through the material, and again and again, hoping one of his abductors will work out what he's trying to say. He was just walking home from class, it was four o'clock in the evening. He doesn't know where his bookbag is, maybe still on the side of the road where he dropped it in the struggle. Someone will find it and realise he's been taken...but until then he needs to keep trying to alert them to their mistake.

"Please," he says. And then louder, " _Please_. You're wrong about me! I'm not-"

Pain bursts hot from his nose across his left cheek, a momentary thing, and then there's nothing but darkness.

-

He's still in the van when he wakes up, the sack beside his face and the zip ties lying broken between his legs. There are no windows to gauge the time of day but from the ache in his shoulders and the dried, brown stain of his own blood on the sack he assumes it's been some time since he was first taken.

Managing to get his feet under himself, eventually, he approaches the back of the van. It's only when he really listens for it that he hears them - a crowd. They're chanting something, although he can't make-out the actual words. They don't sound many in number but they do sound excited, and frustrated, like fans at a sports game. The hairs on Tom's neck stand on end.

There have been whispers, rumours and myths about the fate of the kidnapped alphas; sold on for labour, for laboratory experimentation or let loose in the forest and hunted for sport. Once, a homeless man went on record saying that alphas were kept in cages like fighting dogs and thrown into makeshift arenas together until one of them was dead, all of it gambled on by anyone with enough money. He'd been dismissed as crazy but now Tom's not so sure.

He jumps when heavy footsteps move along the side of the van from back to front, the drivers door opening and the van rocking as somebody climbs inside.

"You okay in there?" A guy shouts back through the grate, and just when Tom is about to give him a genuine answer he laughs. "You won't be for long. Beastie is in a baaaad mood today."

Tom is knocked onto his arse as the guy throws the van into reverse, quicker than can possibly be safe, and to Tom's horror the sound of the crowd grows louder and louder. He runs to the grate, pressing his fingers through the tiny holes and pushing his mouth up close. It hurts his nose, which may or may not be broken, but he presses closer still.

"Please! You know I'm not alpha, don't you? I can't fight anyone!"

Another laugh. The crowd is so loud now that the van is definitely in their midst and Tom can't stem the tears that spring up in the corners of his eyes.

"Kid," the man says, which at least tells Tom that they know well enough he's not even eighteen, "sometimes these folk, the sick fucks who we cater for, they just want a bit of blood. Sometimes the fair fights get a little boring."

"No," Tom grits out, rearing back and slamming his palms against the grate so it makes a satisfyingly loud sound. "NO!"

The guy finally turns and gives Tom the decency of eye contact. "Don't worry, this one's our most popular fighter. He's strong, he'll be done with you in no time. With any luck he'll break your back first and you won't even feel the rest."

There's not a chance in hell Tom can stop the tears now, his chest constricting painfully while his body tries to cry and hyperventilate at the same time. The man is gone from the front of the van and then his voice comes muffled from the left.

"Get rid of the other body, we need to put this one in quick before he pisses himself or something."

The crowd have gone quiet, hushed whispers of excitement rather than their earlier chants, but after a long moment - though not long enough, in Tom's opinion - the scrape of heavy, metal gates opening riles them up again.

The van doors open to reveal a tight, circular space surrounded by spectators; a mockery of the colosseums of old. The ground is dusty like sand or dirt, the chain fencing all the way around and the glaring floodlights making the space look even more intimidating. Off to one side is a small wooden hut - a dog's kennel. Tom wants to scream.

Without ceremony he's dragged from the van and shoved hard so that he lands on his knees in the arena. The crowd gasps, but all Tom can hear is that scraping of metal as the gate is closed behind him. His palms hurt from breaking his fall, grazed pink with dots of blood when he lifts them briefly for inspection.

Then he spots it.

The thing. The huge, hulking creature tucked down in between the kennel and the far end of the fence. Long hair dangles in front of its face and its mouth and chin are hidden behind a short beard, its knuckles pressed to the floor like it walks on all fours. When Tom lifts his head a little more the thing lifts its knuckles and slams them back to the floor, letting out a horribly human roar.

Tom has never seen an unmedicated alpha but he'd expected them to be less...feral.

Scrambling back towards the gate doesn't help him, it only entices the thing out of its corner. There are loose pants hanging from its hips but its torso is bared and it comes slowly, head low to the ground, muscles shifting beneath its skin like a lion stalking prey. It does look like it could tear him apart in seconds, so at least he can take comfort in the fact that he wasn't lied to in his last minutes, but survival instinct is a funny thing and he finds himself turning and attempting to make a run for the gates.

Maybe he can climb them, he's thinking, maybe if he successfully escapes the cage they'll all let him go. Games have to have a winner, right?

But before he's even gone three steps the thing behind him roars and grabs him by the ankles. He falls face first with a thud, winded and struggling to breathe, and when he's flipped onto his back he squeezes his eyes shut tight. He's yanked down further, the movement forcing his shirt to ride up and his back to catch on the gravel. It hurts and he arches up away from the pain, certain now that he's moments from death.

But then everything stops. The crowd goes quiet and Tom realises that the alpha has stopped growling, has stopped yanking him like a rag doll, and when he opens his eyes all he can see is blonde hair. He freezes as the alpha leans closer and presses its nose to his throat, certain that its going to bite, but instead of doing as he expects the thing inhales deeply - nuzzles in close and gives him a curious sniff, beard harsh against his skin.

Tom's chest shakes as he begins to cry again, confused and afraid, wondering why it isn't just making quick work of him like promised.

But then the alpha pulls back, squints curiously down at Tom through his cascade of wild hair and realisation hits Tom like a freight train, knocking the wind out of him even more than the fall did. He’d know those eyes anywhere.

The alpha is Chris.

-

He's littered with scars, lashes marring his wide chest in all shades of pink and ugly bite marks around his waist and throat. His left eyebrow is dissected by a scar that runs from his hairline down the outside corner of his eye and there's a fresh graze beneath his jaw from whatever or whoever was in here with him earlier.

He's still holding Tom down to the floor with the force of his whole body weight but his intent to hurt him seems, for now at least, to have subsided.

It just slips out like an old habit, Chris' name, and in response Chris tilts his head like a dog. There's something there, some recognition, but the person Tom knew certainly isn't anywhere near the surface. Chris' expression has softened to a blankness but when Tom tries his luck with pushing at his shoulders it elicits a growl.

"Okay, okay," Tom whispers, attempting to soothe, opening his palms in surrender and letting them rest beside his head.

He turns to look at the outside of the cage and Chris takes the opportunity to sniff at his throat again, running his nose up and down the skin, pushing it a little way beneath the collar of Tom's shirt.

Tom has no idea what's going on but, whatever it is, it's panicking his kidnappers. The crowd though, they seem more intrigued than worried and Tom wonders if this has ever happened before. Recognition.

Taking advantage of his opportunity to study the spectators, Tom notes that they're mostly men with twisted smirks and hungry expressions, money clutched in their fists, but that there are women there too - neat women with big coats and stylish hair. With a frown he looks back at Chris, at his mostly clean face. He doesn't smell as wild as he looks, he's not acrid with body odour or the smell of his own waste, and while his hair is tangled and dark with grease at the roots it isn't dirty.

Tom looks back at one of the women and wonders if this is for them; keep the beast pretty to entice women to the show.

"How long have you been here?" He asks, trying to turn back to Chris yet again, but this time Chris makes a frustrated sound and presses a palm against Tom's cheek to turn his face away, forcing his head hard to the ground and keeping his throat exposed. Tom says, "Chris-"

The word breaks off in his throat when he feels Chris' tongue against his skin. He sucks in a breath, sharp with shock, and tries to pull away but Chris has him held fast. The hand on his face makes it impossible to draw himself away and the more he tries the more Chris' hold tightens, the more he presses Tom into the ground with his body weight.

"Wait wait wait," Tom breathes out, his earlier relief leaving him.

Back in school, back before any of them were really supposed to be watching porn at all let alone the specialised kind, one of their schoolmates had shown them a website in which alphas were fetishised. They'd only watched one video before Liam got upset and stormed out and, though Tom had followed him immediately and comforted him on the way home, his curiosity had been piqued.

At home he'd found it again, the video, and had watched unblinking as the willing female participant had been generously prepped, talking casually and excitedly to the camera about her fantasy of being fucked by an alpha. Everybody but her had evacuated the room before the door had opened to let in the large alpha and, though he had seemed more human than Chris does, he'd only paused briefly to pant desperately against the slick pink of her exposed cunt before flipping her over and mounting her like a dog.

Viewing it had left Tom shaken and aroused, feeling ashamed. He hadn't gone back to the site but he'd thought about it more often than he'd like to admit, wondering as his sexuality became clearer to him whether or not such videos existed featuring only men.

But, waiting in the van to be released into the cage, he hadn't even given a second thought to the idea that whatever alpha was waiting for him might do anything other than tear him apart and, as glad as he is to find that Chris seems to remember him with fondness, he knows that if Chris were to-

"Wait," he says again as Chris' teeth scrape lightly along the skin of his throat, followed immediately by warm, wet tongue. Chris hums in his throat like he's pleased and Tom can't help but start to struggle in his panic. Unable to move his head or his arms he kicks his legs, presses his feet to the ground for leverage and tries to shove Chris off with his hips. All that happens is that Chris growls more, bites down for real on Tom's neck and shoves his knees further apart on the ground, parting Tom's thighs further.

When he humps downwards their crotches rub together and Tom's eyes fly open even wider, hurting as he strains to see Chris' face from the corner of his eye.

"Oh god," he whispers, clenching his teeth as Chris rubs their groins together again, keening happily to himself as he goes back to nuzzling Tom's neck. He's growing hard, his cock a thick shape in his loose pants that Tom feels nudging up against him, and to his horror Tom begins to harden from the friction too, from the laving of Chris' tongue behind his ear and beneath his chin.

Chris is unrelenting and wild in his thrusting, desperate, and it occurs to Tom that maybe this is a first for him too. He wants to fight, to stop this before it goes beyond what he'll be able to handle, but between Chris' hold and the traitorously pleasant buzzing beneath his skin he can't move a muscle.

He blinks over at the crowd as Chris humps at him, his eyes watering from the shame of it as they look on, and his own breathing grows shallower and more laboured even as Chris builds rhythm. Frustrated, he shoves Tom's legs apart even further with one arm and pins him that way, with one knee up by his side and his crotch fully exposed to be humped at.

It's singly the most terrifying, humiliating and arousing thing that has ever happened in Tom's short life and as his arousal builds and tightens towards orgasm he squeezes his eyes closed and hopes that he never has to open them - that Chris will come with a roar and tear out his throat.

But Chris does no such thing.

With a pained-sounding growl he freezes, mouth wet and open against Tom's neck while he tenses up and shudders, breathing hot and damp. He whines a little, humping shallowly a few times, and then eventually he goes still.

He doesn't get off when he's done, stays for far too long slumped there, pressing against Tom's hard dick but no longer providing the friction for it to be pleasurable.

"I can't breathe," Tom grunts, though now he's positive that Chris doesn't understand a word he's saying. True enough, Chris stays just where he is, even beginning to mouth again at Tom's neck despite his skin feeling raw from beard-rub and tender with bruises.

Tom shoves again at Chris' chest as best he can, feeling angry, still aware of the crowd. "I said I can't breathe!"

This time Chris does pull back, frowning down at Tom in confusion like he recognises Tom's anger but doesn't understand it. Once again Tom feels the urge to cry, and this time he doesn't fight it, shoving again at Chris' chest as hard as he can now that there's room between their bodies.

Chris clambers to a crouch, once again using his knuckles for balance, and Tom feels even dirtier about what just happened.

"You're an animal," he snarls between clenched teeth even as he sits up and adjusts his own hardness in his pants. Chris drops his eyes to the movement but doesn't react. He doesn't seem aware of the crowd, or of anything except Tom.

He grunts, holding out one arm and slowly opening his palm. Tom stares at it, at the dirt embedded in the creases of his fingers and beneath his fingernails, and blinks. Chris grunts again, this time with less patience and Tom gets his own feet under himself and reaches out to take the proffered hand.

Without preamble Chris pulls him up and towards the kennel, dragging him faster whenever he stumbles, and Tom is reminded of a cartoon he once saw of a Neanderthal knocking a female mate out with a stick and dragging her by the foot into a cave. Perhaps now Chris thinks of Tom as something he's claimed, laid his scent on. The thought is terrifying.

The both have to duck to enter the kennel, although for Chris that seems to be the norm. Inside there's nothing but a thin mattress that is dampened in one corner by the occasional dripping of a water hose protruding from high up on the wall.

All at once Tom's fear for himself is flooded out by his sadness for Chris, the thought that perhaps he's been here for six long years. It makes sense all of a sudden; Chris' lack of speech and his animal gait. Living like this would turn anyone mad, let alone an unmedicated alpha fighting constant wave of hormones and animalistic instinct.

There's a shirt crumpled up on the mattress, the buttons loose or missing completely, and Chris tosses it careless at Tom with a grunt. It smells musty like old sweat and earthy where there's soil ground into the elbows. Tom doesn't want to put it on but Chris is staring at him like he expects him to, his eyebrows lowering more the longer Tom simply holds the material away from himself. When their eyes meet Chris tips his head down in some semblance of a nod.

Tom doesn't move; he's unable, and he can't help but flinch when Chris grunts with more force and moves forward on all fours until he's leaning over Tom again, pressing him down into the mattress.

"Please don't," Tom whimpers, too shaken up and exhausted to deal with the thought of Chris humping at him again. He doesn't want Chris to hurt him. Something about his tone must speak to some part of Chris because he stops, and instead of lowering himself on top he simply butts their heads together lightly, as though he recognises that Tom is afraid and wishes to soothe him.

Chris lifts one hand to awkwardly drape the material of the shirt over Tom's torso, pulling it up underneath his chin. Something happens around his mouth, muscle memory of a half-smile maybe, and then he nuzzles in again at Tom's neck, snuffling behind his ear as he tips sideways and drops himself to lie beside him.

Big arms wind around him at the waist and neck, tugging him close, and Tom can do nothing but accept the hold.

For a long time he worries that it's going to degenerate into humping again, or worse, particularly when Chris seems to take a casual interest in the warm skin beneath his waistband, but the exploring fingers don't go far and eventually Chris' breaths turn into rattling snores.

In the silence Tom is finally able to take stock of everything and the true direness of the situation hits him hard, has his stomach clenching in panic. His mum will have realised by now that he's missing but there's no way anyone will connect it with the alpha abductions, not when Tom is so unrelentingly ordinary. He imagines her panic, imagines the police asking her over and over again if Tom had any reason to run away. He's seen enough crime dramas to know the routine.

Chris' hand shifts on Tom's stomach and he jumps, his worry shifting back to himself and how the hell he's going to get himself home. He lies awake for as long as his body will allow before the exhaustion gets too much, and finally when the darkness takes him he lets himself drift.

-

Day Two 

The heavy clang of the gates opening is what wakes Tom from his fitful sleep, and the arm around his waist tightens. It's hard not to be frightened of the low growl that Chris emits, even if he's confident that it's not aimed at him.

"Come on out, Beastie," an amused voice calls. "Your toy can come too, if he's still alive in there."

Chris gets up, wary, and shifts towards the door to squint out into the daylight. It's quiet aside from the men moving outside and Tom guesses that the crowd have long gone. He's not sure how many hours it's been but they clearly slept through the night.

With a grunt Chris turns to look at him, holding out that palm again before shuffling out of the doorway. Tom isn't sure if he's supposed to stay put or follow so he crawls over to the door on his knees and pokes his head out.

Chris is already in the centre of the space and the men are casually milling around just outside the gates; nobody's in any kind of rush and Chris seems unbothered by their presence. The whole picture reminds Tom of zookeepers outside of a lion's den.

There are five men that Tom can see, but none are the man from inside the van and Tom wonders how many of them there are altogether.

"Morning, plaything," one of them smiles when he spots him, and when Tom narrows his eyes he only laughs, waving at Chris to head over to the tall, brick wall across from the gates. In his hand he's swinging a metal rod to and fro and at the sight of it Chris stiffens.

He lopes over as directed, turning back a couple of times to be sure that Tom hasn't followed, and when he's between the brick wall and the man with the rod he stops, hunching his shoulder and turning side-on. Tom watches warily as the gate opens further and two other men enter, carrying between them a large hose.

Instinctively Tom climbs out if the kennel and onto his feet, making to move towards Chris, but then they release the lever and white, frothy water comes gushing out.

The force of it knocks Chris back a few steps, his arms coming up to shield his face, and when he regains his balance he dutifully makes a slow turn, the harsh spray leaving his stomach, back and sides pink. They hose him down for longer than Tom thinks is really necessary and when the spray is turned off he shakes his hair like a wild animal, snarling at the men with the hose even as he begins to make his way back over to the kennel.

While he's distracted the men turn the hose on Tom.

It knocks him off his feet, painfully cold against his skin, and in his shock Tom struggles to breathe. Holding his palms out in front of him doesn't seem to make much difference; blocking the water from his face only makes it power harder against his chest and throat.

He can't hear anything over the roar of the water, can't get back onto his feet to escape, but suddenly Chris is there sheltering him, crouched in front of him with his back to the spray. He's soaking wet and looks exactly like he did before he recognised Tom. Like he's ready to kill something.

The men are all laughing when they shut it off, but only for as long as it takes Chris to turn towards them. His shoulders are up by his ears, his hands clenched into tight fists, and the growl that rumbles from his chest seems almost as loud as the spray had been.

"Chris-" Tom warns, but the alpha is already heading towards the men. They back up a little, not laughing anymore, and the first man lifts his metal rod in warning. The end of it snaps and crackles with electricity and Chris stops in his tracks, snarling more.

"Easy, Beastie," the man says, holding up the rod and letting it sizzle a few more times. "Just trying to clean him up so you can play with him again."

As they back up, warily, Chris stays where he is and watches them. Tom can't see his face but his shoulders are tense, his knees bent like he's still half-considering making chase right up until the gates close again. Tom stands on shaky legs and wipes at his mouth, lifting the plaid shirt from the muddy pool it fell into. Chris twitches and turns to look back at him.

"Hey," Tom says, making every effort not to flinch when Chris snarls. "At least your shirt got washed?"

If Chris understands that Tom is trying to be funny he doesn't show it.

-

He's sunning himself on top of the kennel where Tom left him; body all stretched out, muscles on show like a marble statue. It's not a particularly warm day, really, but it's bright and the wind isn't too cold. He looks in his element, eyes closed and face tipped up to the sky, arms opened wide so that his hands dangle over the edges of the flat roof. At first he'd been quite insistent that Tom follow him up there, pulling him by the arm with a frown, but the third or fourth time Tom had said no Chris had huffed, letting go immediately and presenting his back.

He's nothing like the Chris that Tom remembers. He'd always seemed worldly-wise and logical, witty and funny in his teasing. It makes no sense that simply being unmedicated would steal all that from him and leave him, as far as Tom can tell, unable to speak. He doesn't stand tall like he did before, doesn't seem to even remember how to smile, and any fondness for Tom he has appears to be based on sense memory alone.

"Chris," Tom calls, walking over to rest his elbows against the top of the kennel. Chris reaches out until his knuckles clumsily brush Tom's cheek but he doesn't otherwise respond. "Do you remember Liam? Or your mum?"

He rolls his head to the side, opens his eyes with a little grunt, and for a moment Tom feels a spark of hope...then the gate rattles behind him and he turns to see that Chris is actually reacting to the buckets of food that have carelessly been thrown inside. He hops up excitably, unapologetically shoving past Tom as if he's afraid there might be a scuffle between them.

He leans over the buckets one at a time as of deciding which one is his and then, with a guilty glance back at Tom, picks them both up under his arms and heads off into the corner with them.

The man from earlier is there, his grin revealing yellow-stained teeth. He watches Chris rush off with the food and huffs out a laugh, turning to Tom. "What're you looking at? You better hurry after him before he eats it all. Yours is the smaller one."

Tom isn't sure he's hungry enough to wrestle scraps of food out of a bucket from his feral companion. He instead stares Yellow Teeth down.

"I want a bucket of soapy water," he says, pushing his shoulders back and lifting his chin in the hopes of looking confident. "And a sponge or some clean cloth. A nail brush also wouldn't go amiss."

He feels silly really, asking so nicely when these men clearly have no moral compass, but for some reason Yellow Teeth nods. "Well alright, since you're keeping our best boy happy I suppose we can allow you a few little luxuries."

Tom nods as cordially as he can but resists the habit of saying thank you. He's turning to head back to the kennel when Yellow Teeth whistles for his attention. With a raised brow Tom turns to look.

"Will you be needing any lube?"

The suddenness with which his jaw clenches causes actual pain, but he simply shakes his head, letting his anger at the man's laughter boil away under the surface.

-

Chris eats almost everything and Tom lets him, watching from the roof of the kennel with interest as Chris picks and chooses which bits he wants first with clumsy hands, leaning over to find similar things in Tom's bucket and eating those too. It's hard to tell what exactly most of it is but Chris eats with enthusiasm, eventually pulling out bananas which he squeezes until they burst.

He seems to forget that Tom is even there, shovelling fistfuls of food into his mouth without so much as a glance around him. It's only once he's had his fill that he finally looks up and when their eyes meet he looks down at the buckets with that same guilty face from before.

This time, when he struggles to pick up both buckets with his slippery hands, he pauses a moment. He looks back and forth between the buckets a few times before lifting the smaller one and tipping its contents into the other bucket.

Tom feels hope swell in his stomach, excitement, as Chris brings the bucket over. He's not completely gone, Tom is certain of that now, and he manages a smile as Chris offers up the bucket with his head tipped forwards in apology.

Inside the kennel Tom picks through the food; what looks like boiled animal organs mixed with vegetables and other barely-edible bits. He lifts up an orange peel towards Chris.

"Did you eat this?"

In what seems like an attempt to be helpful, Chris only shuffles over and lifts a small, slippery piece of offal to Tom's lips which Tom bats away, unable to hide his disgust. He turns his back so that Chris can't reach inside for anything else and begins to poke around. There's a half-eaten apple inside which he's able to wipe off and take a few bites of, but nothing else appeals to him.

Just as he's pushing the bucket away he feels Chris shuffle closer still, up against his back, making low noises in his chest. He begins to nuzzle at the back of Tom's neck again, pressing his nose behind his ear and inhaling. Fingers grip Tom's still-damp shirt at the back, scrunching into fists, and then Tom is tipped forwards by Chris' weight as he leans over him.

"Jesus, Chris," Tom groans, attempting to free his arm that has been pinned beneath his stomach. Chris takes heed of his displeased tone and pulls back for just long enough that Tom can free his arm into a more comfortable position, and then he's back atop him, mouthing wet and clumsy at Tom's throat and neck.

His hardening cock nudges against Tom's hip and then his arse, no real rhythm to it except what feels good for Chris, and Tom lets it happen, taking comfort in the knowledge that Chris likely won't be able to navigate the belt, button and zipper of the jeans Tom is still wearing and so anything more than humping will be on Tom's terms.

Not that it stops Chris from getting his own cock out.

He rubs himself against the denim for a moment, breathing oddly, and then lets out a growl that falters and becomes more of a whimper. It can't feel nice, Tom thinks, rubbing his sensitive cock against the rough denim, and Chris is sounding more and more upset and frustrated with each careless thrust.

"Come here," Tom sighs, using all of his force to lift his shoulders and attempt to knock Chris off. He's too heavy to be dislodged by force but he rolls off anyway, palming pitifully at himself for the few seconds that it takes Tom turn over onto his back. He opens up one arm in invitation and Chris crawls back to him, leaning on him again with all of his weight like it doesn't occur to him to hold himself up at all.

It's a struggle, but with some wriggling Tom's able to get his hand between them. Chris is already humping again so at first he's only able to feel the wet tip nudging against his fingers and then, eventually, his palm. Chris lets out a guttural moan, thrusting again, and this time Tom is able to close his fingers around him.

Chris stops then, having thrust wholly into Tom's fist, and stares down at him for a long moment, lips parted. They stay like that, just breathing, and then Tom gives his fist a little squeeze. Chris groans, and when he pulls his hips back and thrusts forward again his gaze finally loses focus and his eyes slip shut.

It doesn't take long for Tom's palm to be slick with precum, much more than when Tom touches himself, and Chris is able to fuck the tight, wet warmth as carelessly as he pleases. His cockhead feels slippery and slick; Tom wishes he could see it but Chris is weighing on him too solidly for that, his head now resting down beside Tom's face, breath hot against his cheek and odd smelling, somehow sweet and stale at the same time.

Tom makes a mental note to ask for mouthwash too.

It's hardly romantic, but the way Chris' noises intensify and his breathing quickens makes a proud heat bloom deep in Tom's stomach, his own cock getting hard once again from the feel of Chris on top of him. He wonders briefly whether or not he'd have developed a crush on Chris if he hadn't been taken away, but then Chris stills and, with a loud moan, paints Tom's palm and wrist with hot come.

Later, Tom wipes his hand off in the dirt beside the kennel before taking a slow walk around the perimeter of the cage, on the lookout for loose corners or soft ground to dig their way out. After a while one of the men comes out of the dark and rusted building behind the line of vans and starts to follow him around so, to avoid further suspicion, he heads back into the kennel, surprised to find Chris asleep in the corner in a patch of sunlight.

Smiling, in spite of their dire situation, Tom finds himself crawling over and pressing himself up against Chris' back.

-

Day Three 

The following morning when the gates go and Chris stumbles sleepily out towards the brick wall, Tom pokes his head out and is surprised to find that Yellow Teeth is only there to place a bucket and cloth just inside the enclosure.

"See? You play nice and I play nice," he calls with a smarmy smile before heading back towards the building. Curious, Chris makes his way across and leans over the bucket to see and sniff what's inside. He seems disappointed that it isn't food.

"Don't be like that," Tom murmurs, keeping a wary eye on Yellow Teeth until he's gone completely from view. "You'll like it, I promise."

And Chris does; preening and whining happily at the attention when Tom soaks the cloth with soapy water and goes to work on him. He hadn't expected the water to be warm but it is, and though the washcloth is rough it's nowhere near as rough as a blast with the hose. He lifts Chris' arms to soap his armpits and scrub them thoroughly, moving down to his ribs and chest even though it makes Chris huff and turn away like it tickles. He turns dutifully to have his back washed and closes his eyes on command when Tom washes his face.

He's hard, his cock rosy and sticking up towards his belly, and it's the first time Tom's gotten a good look at it; uncut and fairly thick with a slightly leftwards curve. Chris seems aware that it has Tom's attention and pushes his hips out, trying to get him to touch it like he's touched everywhere else.

Tom reaches for Chris' hand instead and slaps the wet cloth into it. "You wash that yourself."

Later, once the water is tepid, he spends a good while brushing the dirt out from beneath Chris' fingernails. They're broken and untidy too, so he uses the rough pad on the back of the brush to file them down. Chris seems to like that less than the washing but he doesn't fidget too much and within an hour Tom's got him as clean as can be expected.

When Chris moves off, naked and immaculate save for the black soles of his feet, to sit on top of the kennel again, Tom carries the bucket over to the gate and sets it down where they'll be able to reach it without coming too far in. He figures that if he behaves himself they won't think to worry about him trying to get out.

Yellow Teeth is there, leaning against the fence. He nods over at Chris. "You did good. You a qualified dog groomer by trade?"

It sickens Tom to hear him talk about Chris that way but he knows he can't address it - he doesn't want to seem like trouble, just a little stubborn. Crossing his arms over his chest he faces the man.

"You're not hosing him down anymore. I want a bucket of soapy water every day to wash with. And mouthwash."

A snicker, but he doesn't disagree with Tom's terms. "I think it's sweet," he says, moving off and heading back. "We thought we were finding him a chew toy when we picked you up. Instead we found him a little wife."

It takes everything in Tom not to scream. He feels electrified by his anger, buzzed enough to climb the metal fencing and leap it, but he knows he can’t leave without Chris; Liam would never forgive him. He’d never forgive himself.

He doesn’t know how long he stands there clenching his fists but he has to blink away his fury when another man appears from the building and makes his way over. It’s food, Tom knows from the familiar buckets, and as soon as the man nears the gate Chris comes sprinting over, still naked.

He takes both buckets again and sits alone to eat his fill, once again picking through everything, but this time when he comes over with his offering for Tom there are two untouched apples at the top.

Tom's eyes flick between the food and Chris' face, sure that he recognises a flash of pride behind Chris' eyes.

"So you do have some semblance of comprehension," he mutters to himself, taking both apples with a grateful smile. The first one is sweet when he bites into it, juice running over his lip and down his chin when he sighs happily at the taste. He's too happy to be annoyed when Chris leans into his space and licks the sweet liquid away.

-

"When will they make you fight again?"

Tom was taken on a Saturday afternoon when he was walking back home from morning rehearsals, bookbag slung over his shoulder, timing his steps and bopping his head to the song blasting in his ears. He never heard them coming. By the time the van had pulled up beside him and he'd reached up to yank one earphone out it had been too late; the side door had opened and he'd had the sack pulled over his head.

That means that, if Tom has his days right, the last fight happened on Saturday and it's Monday now.

Chris hasn't taken in the question at all but when Tom looks at him expectantly instead of giving up and looking away, Chris' shoulders lift for a second. Tom is positive that it's a shrug.

"Well, I hope it's a weekend thing," he huffs, lying down on his back and stretching out in a yawn. "It's Monday I think, which gives us..."

He trails off when Chris crawls over him and presses his face to the slither of skin between his waistband and t-shirt that his yawn has revealed. His beard scratches lightly, his chin mostly catching on Tom's belt, and then he hunkers down further and nuzzles quite forcefully into Tom's crotch.

Tom looks down at him, watching as he snuffles around and inhales deeply. It feels good, his warm breath seeping through the material, and Tom can't take his eyes away.

"I smell good there?" he says, mostly because Chris doesn't understand him, and the only response he gets is Chris rubbing his cheek against the denim. "You're a dirty bastard..." he whispers, shoving his hips up towards Chris' face, and when Chris clambers up again so that they're eye-to-eye Tom spreads his knees wide and welcomes him.

-

Day Four 

Tuesday morning passes in the same way, with nothing new to take note of other than the mouthwash.

Chris doesn't understand gurgling and when he accidentally swallows a bit he begins to cough and splutter, flashing Tom a look of utter betrayal. Tom has to demonstrate the process several times before Chris understands, and Tom takes the opportunity to wash away the stale taste of his own mouth too.

Eventually Chris manages to successfully gargle the blue liquid for a couple of seconds, but when he tips his head back down to smile proudly at Tom he ends up swallowing again, choking, and some of it even dribbles out of his nose.

Tom knows it's mean to laugh but he can't help himself, and Chris goes off into a huff for the rest of the morning.

-

When they've eaten Chris wanders off for a little while and Tom spends the alone time lying on his back with his eyes closed, trying to visualise the surrounding area. The place may be secured against an unmedicated alpha running on animal instinct alone but it's not secured against a critical mind, and Tom is sure he can outsmart their captors.

He needs Chris onboard, somehow, and wonders if he can take food that will keep a few days and use it to bribe Chris into helping. Chris seems to care for him, or at least to consider him his property, but communication isn't really his strong suit.

He hears Chris return and doesn't open his eyes just yet, trying to hold on for as long as possible to his mental image of their cage. It slips away from him slowly, distracted as he is by the feeling of Chris crawling over him, and when he opens his eyes he's stunned to find Chris crouched above him, completely naked, hard cock inches from Tom's face.

"Ugh, Chris!" He splutters, attempting to roll away, but Chris has him trapped between his knees and there isn't a lot Tom can do but turn his face. When he looks up in the hope of meeting Chris' eyes all he gets poked beneath the chin as Chris pushes his hips forward a little.

"So it's like that, is it?" He huffs, Chris' erection bobbing so close that when he tries to look at it he goes cross-eyed. "Every time you get a full stomach you expect sexual favours?"

Chris doesn't answer, of course, except for another little thrust that has his cockhead nudging Tom in the cheek and leaving a trail of warm precum behind.

Tom doesn't really mind the thought of it. He's seen enough porn to know that it's something he wants to try, something he might even enjoy, it's just not exactly the circumstances he expected.

There's no way he's doing it lying down like this though - Chris has too much leverage and Tom has no way to back off if it all gets too much, so he moves his face away again.

"Lie on your back," he says, trying to gesture in a way that Chris might understand. There's no response other than further thrusting and those familiar noises of frustration. In the end he has to take Chris by the hips and manoeuvre him by hand, and as soon as Chris realises that Tom isn’t rejecting his advances he’s much more compliant, lying down and spreading his legs wide so that his hard cock and heavy balls are on full display.

He’s definitely something to look at, there’s no denying that, and so Tom does for a while; looks his fill until Chris starts to make noises of complaint and palm clumsily at himself. Even though his heart is beating loud in his ears Tom manages a fairly fond eye roll before shuffling himself closer, resting his palms on the insides of Chris’ thighs. The skin there is soft and paler than the rest of him, hidden from the sun, and the hairs are sparse and too blonde to see in the poor light that the kennel window allows.

Gripping Chris in a fist makes him thrust up a little and Tom hushes him, leaning down until he’s a breath away from his cock. They make eye-contact, prolonged and heated, and when Chris thrusts up a little again Tom takes the hint and finally licks out to taste.

Chris' hips shoot off the floor, his crotch coming up to hit Tom in the face.

"Calm down," he tuts, rubbing at his nose, and Chris opens his mouth and makes a sound that vaguely resembles a laugh and causes his abs to shake. Tom laughs too, despite being a little confused, but after a moment Chris reaches down to take himself in hand and aim the tip of his cock towards Tom’s mouth.

He gets back to it with determination, unsure at first that he’s going to be able to keep Chris from thrusting up at him and even less sure that he’s going to like the taste, but to his surprise he doesn’t mind it. Chris tastes mostly like skin with just a slight tang, not too musky because of how thoroughly Tom had made him clean himself earlier. He licks again, swirling his tongue in a way that Chris seems to like, and once his lips are wet he opens wide and takes the crown into his mouth.

Hollowing his cheeks while he licks the slit seems to excite Chris and Tom has to lean his forearm across his hips to keep him still. It isn’t until he starts to leak precum that Tom has to pull away to adjust to the taste and texture on his tongue.

The task itself isn't unpleasant at all, even though Tom’s jaw starts to ache much sooner than he expected. He pulls off again, much to Chris’ annoyance, but a prominent vein runs along the underside and Tom follows it with the flat of his tongue which seems to placate him a little.

His breathing is what lets Tom know that he’s close; his chest rising and falling more rapidly with each passing minute, mewling and rumbling noises escaping his throat in turn. One hand creeps down to wind in Tom’s hair and as he comes he pulls, hard enough to make Tom’s eyes water, keeping him so close that Tom has no choice but to drink down the copious come.

He gags, pulling off as soon as Chris lets go of his hair and sucking in a series of deep breaths while Chris lies prone, knees spread, looking a little dazed.

The taste stays on his tongue for hours and it’s all he can think about when Chris tugs him down for a nap. He smells good at least, and he’s warm, and Tom finds himself drifting in and out of consciousness as the afternoon passes by.

When he wakes for the final time he’s sure that it’s supposed to be dark but the doorway is letting in a stark white light that stings his sleepy eyes. Chris is hovering there, by the door, whimpering and knocking his knuckles down against the ground sporadically, eyes shifting between Tom and the outside.

“What is it?” Tom says, sitting up, his heart rate kicking up again as he registers just how worried Chris is. He wants to crawl over and comfort him somehow but Chris is far too on-edge for that, and it’s only when Chris stops knocking his knuckles down that Tom hears them outside - a hundred or more hushed, excited voices.

“Oh…” he breathes, feeling like his heart is lodged in his throat. “Oh Chris, no.”

-

 

 


	2. Paint Us With Salvation

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings for violence in this chapter. I haven't used the warning because I'm not sure it counts as graphic but do let me know if you disagree and I'll add the warning.

Any thoughts he has about consoling Chris go right out of the window the moment the gate is opened. The familiar sound of a van backing up filters through the crowd noise and almost before Tom's eyes the latent humanity shrinks into nothing, disappearing from Chris’ pupils in the space of a blink.

He bares his teeth in a snarl, chest rumbling out a low growl, and when the van doors open he flies out of the kennel and into the floodlit centre.

Torn between watching and hiding until it's over, Tom hovers in the doorway with a white-knuckled grip on the frame.

The shirtless man who emerges from the van is an alpha for sure, wide-shouldered and muscled, but he's not on all fours and matching Chris' snarl like Tom expects. The second his eyes land on Chris he reaches his palms out in surrender.

"Wait," he says, eyes flashing this way and that, looking at the surrounding crowd with the utter disbelief that Tom remembers well. The panic in his voice is evident to Tom but Chris only seems further on-edge and lunges forwards an inch with another growl. The man’s shoulders hunch, his jaw going tight, and Tom can see the alpha in him trying to take over. “Wait,” he repeats, but this time there’s more of a threat in his voice.

When Chris lunges forwards another inch the guy bends his knees and brings his arms up to shield his chest, a fighting stance, but he angles his head this way and that to look around the cage. Any time the other alpha moves at all Chris tips his head up and roars at him, a thunderous sound that resonates in his chest. Tom almost shrinks away when the guy’s eyes land on him, wide and desperate.

“Hey!” He shouts, waiting only a second before making the mistake of moving towards Tom.

He goes down like a pile of rocks when Chris throws himself at him, an inhuman roar hanging in the air as they hit the ground. Tom cries out too, but it’s swallowed by the celebration of the crowd. His eyes shift around them all, the mass of enthralled faces visible just beyond the floodlights, and he’s certain that he’s never felt more hate in his entire life.

The sickening sound of skin hitting skin is what makes him turn back to Chris, and he can’t comprehend what he sees. It’s almost a blur they move so fast, Chris clawing and punching and biting, no sign at all of the gentle creature Tom has come to know.

He’s edging out of the kennel, horror curling in his stomach at the thought of letting Chris kill someone right in front of him, when it becomes apparent that the other man is no longer simply trying to defend himself. He lands a solid punch to the side of Chris’ head, one that has him tipping to the side as if dazed. Another punch square in his nose rocks him backwards to fall on his arse.

The man spins towards Tom again and this time there’s a darkness in his eyes too, and his teeth are bared when he yells, “Help me!”

Tom doesn’t have time to react because within seconds Chris has found his balance again and rears back to beat his fists down on the man, harder and with more speed. Tom can’t see his face because of the angle and he’s glad of it, not sure what he’d see there.

There’s blood now, pouring down the man’s neck to pool on his chest, his arms unable to block Chris’ blows. Every hit sounds wetter than the last, Chris’ fists and arms dark with the man’s blood.

"Chris!" Tom wails, flying out of the kennel finally, and the crowd gasps. Chris either doesn't care or is too far gone to hear him because he doesn't stop, doesn't even pause, and the closer Tom gets the more clearly he can hear the other alpha gurgling in pain.

It's not far, just a few metres, but Tom can't even make that small distance without tripping over his own feet, and even though he gets his hands out in front of him in time his head still connects with the sandy floor, vibrating like a gong as a cloud of dust flurries up around him.

Between the fog and the pained blur he can't see a thing, but the wet pelting of fists on skin stops and he's able to breathe a sigh of relief as he tries to pull himself up.

Chris is right there at his shoulder making throaty, worried grunts, hovering, and after a moment he pulls Tom's chest up onto his lap and curls over him, still watching over his shoulder in case the other alpha moves.

The sharp stench of copper hits Tom's nostrils and he wonders momentarily if he's bleeding, but realisation hits soon enough; Chris' fists are red with blood, smatterings up his wrists and forearms too. The other alpha has rolled onto his side and is coughing his own blood out of his mouth to get a breath. Chris growls, but Tom slithers an arm around his waist and holds on as hard as he can, whispering under his breath, trying to keep Chris close.

The van beeps as it backs up, the gates opening slowly.

They must be insane to open the gate right now, Tom thinks, until he blinks and sees the hose again. It's aimed right at Chris, of course, and Yellow Teeth is at its spout.

"Stay where you are, Beastie," he yells, nodding to the hose in threat. Chris heeds the warning, growling some more in his chest but only so Tom can hear.

They drag the other alpha back out, each of them throwing disappointed looks at Chris as if he's somehow failed them by not finishing the guy off. Tom holds onto him tighter and tries not to look at the beaten face of the other man as he's hefted into the van.

Chest expanding, Chris seems to take a deep breath as the van pulls away, as sure as Tom is that it's over. Neither of them anticipates the hose.

Vision blurring and ears filled with only the roaring water, Tom clings harder and splutters to get his breath, thankful for Chris' wide back shielding him from most of the spray. He turns his face into Chris' stomach, lips brushing the skin just above his belly button, and tries to suck in a full breath without taking in any of the water too. Chris curls over him more, grips him tighter, and Tom is suddenly more overwhelmed by the strength of his feelings for Chris than the water.

When it cuts off it takes a moment to register the yelling.

"-a show, you useless fucking idiot! You're a  _ beast _ ! You  _ kill _ !" Yellow Teeth looks rabid, his eyes wide, spitting down his own chin as he shouts. He turns his eyes on Tom. "And you! You ruin another fight and I'll throw you in with another alpha, how about that?"

The very idea of it chills Tom to his core.

"You want to keep me happy?" Yellow Teeth snarls, producing the electric rod from his back pocket with one hand as he points to the crowd with the other. He lets it crackle and snap for a few seconds, a clear threat. "You better keep  _ them _ happy. They come for a show, kids, and you sure as hell better give 'em one."

He goes after that, feet a heavy stomp. Tom almost expects another blast of the hose before the gate closes but they're just left there, dripping.

His mind races, his eyes flashing back and forth as Chris attempts to pull him up. There's a lump in his throat that prickles tears at the corners of his eyes but he knows they don't have time for that - they need to give their captors what they want. He feels sick, with anger and fear, as the crowd begin to murmur again, curious.

He thinks that with the gates closed Chris will finally relax but he doesn't; he stays where he is, still, breathing heavily. His cheek and jaw are blooming dark pink from the other alpha's attempts at self-defence, a dark circle coming up under one eye too, and Tom wants nothing more than to drag Chris into the kennel and soothe him, hold him until his shoulders loosen and his fists stop trembling.

All he can offer is soft fingertips along the forming bruises, quiet whispers that it's going to be okay - they're going to be okay. Tom knows that Chris can't comprehend what he's saying but he seems able to read Tom's tone, and after a moment he lowers his head to rub the tip of his nose just beneath the sore spot on Tom's head, a tender gesture full of concern.

"I'm okay," Tom whispers, nuzzling back. Chris' hands are now pink with watery blood, they smudge wetly along Tom's cheeks when Chris palms his face to hold him still. Tom doesn't mind, not when Chris' tongue is licking at his lips until they part. He anticipates a kiss, tilts his chin up to accept it, but Chris' questing tongue continues on down his chin and around towards his ear, tickling, leaving the dampness of over-eager spit in its wake.

"Of course you don't kiss," Tom breathes, rolling his eyes at himself, and Chris doesn't respond except to lean his weight onto Tom and lie him back.

Tom lets it happen; unsure whether Chris has come to the same understanding as him, that they need to 'perform' for the crowd, or whether he's just pent-up from the aborted fight and looking to use up his energy on Tom. Either way, Tom releases a shuddering breath and lets Chris clamber on top of him. Parting his knees, he tries to block out the noises of the crowd, concentrating as best he can on the feeling of Chris settling between his thighs. With any luck he'll even get an orgasm out of it.

"Chris," he murmurs, tilting his head back to have his throat licked and nipped at. He does it because it feels good - it's only afterwards that he realises what a submissive action it is. Chris takes it as such, forcefully rolling his hips against Tom's. The fabric of his loose pants is wet and rough where it catches on the crotch of Tom's jeans and Tom grips at the muscle of Chris' forearms; solid from the tension of holding himself up, and offers him a small nod.

"Go on," he murmurs, sliding one hand up Chris' upper arm, past his shoulder, to stroke at his neck. "Make yourself feel good. It's okay."

Chris has already begun to roll his hips before Tom finishes talking, squeezing his eyes shut as their groins catch. It's clear that he's still running on instinct, energy that needs to go somewhere being funnelled into his movements as he grinds down on Tom with increasing force. Dipping down he mouths at Tom like he's starving for it, grabbing at his hair and his clothes, scraping his teeth carelessly against Tom's lips. It's as close to a kiss as Tom can get and so he takes it, nipping Chris' mouth in return and revelling in the small groan he gets in response.

He let's Chris do what he wants, feeling how wound up he is from the fight, tension still simmering beneath his skin. He allows himself to be manouvered, doesn't fight when Chris slips lower with sinewy precision, predatory again like the first night in the cage. Clumsy fingers reach for the hem of Tom' shirt to lift it out of the way and the shudder that wracks his body is half-arousal, half-fear. He hisses as Chris' damp beard catches his sensitive nipple, the sensation not entirely unpleasant, shooting down between his legs.

He tries to hold Chris' head there, lifts his back a little off the ground in the hopes of keeping Chris' attention at the stiffening peaks of his nipples, but Chris has other ideas, shuffling down further to pull impatiently at the belt around Tom's waist. Tom gasps in surprise, gripping Chris' wrists as he tugs hard enough to lift Tom's arse off the ground.

"Wait," Tom pleads, trying to gather himself. Chris hasn't attempted to get past his belt before and Tom has undone it only a few times in the days that he's been here, to wash himself when Chris was otherwise distracted. The alpha-pornos he'd seen had always been rough, careless, the bottom always incredibly well-prepped and Tom hadn't wanted to test Chris' self control by undressing fully in front of him.

Chris whines unhappily when his rough handling doesn't gain him what he wants, tugging some more before flashing his eyes up to Tom's. He's got a look of such longing, paired perfectly with his sad confusion at not being allowed inside, and it tugs at Tom's heart strings. Torn, Tom lets his fingers hover over the buckle. "Promise you'll be gentle," he says hopelessly, shaking his head even as he pulls the leather loose.

Once the belt is undone Tom slips the button free with shaking fingers, inhaling sharply as Chris knocks his hands out of the way, gets his fingers inside and pulls until the zipper-teeth grind and break free of each other. Tom tries to swallow his cry, remembering their audience, and lifts his hips so that Chris can wildly yank the material down his legs. He gets them down to Tom's knees before he realises that there's underwear too, and before Tom can argue he gets his fingers beneath the waistband and drags them down as well.

Tom's traitorous cock comes free half-erect, eliciting a spattering of interested chatter from the crowd, and then Tom is kicking his feet free of his jeans as Chris pulls them over his shoes. Once they're abandoned on the dirt behind him Chris shoulders his way back between Tom's knees and lets out an excited grunt. His beard chafes at the soft insides of Tom's thighs as he nuzzles his face down into Tom's groin and inhales, reminiscent of a few days earlier.

His tongue, flat and wet, is a welcome sensation against Tom's shaft, but one that has his hips jumping in surprise. Glancing down Tom's met by the wide blues of Chris' eyes, full of curiosity as he licks and mouths at Tom's cock as if testing the taste. It's the first mouth Tom has ever had on his cock, the first touch that isn't his own, and despite the situation it brings him to full hardness.

"Chris," he whispers, reaching for his hair, but Chris is already nosing his way down further, snuffling against the softness of Tom's sac. "Wait, what're you-"

Chris has the brute strength to pummel a man almost to death so shoving Tom's knees up to his chest takes no effort at all. Tom has never been so exposed in his life, bared not only to the crowd but bared most intimately to Chris whose eyes are fixated between the cheeks of his arse.

He blinks up at the floodlights, digs his fingers into the dirt at his sides, and sends up a quick, hopeless prayer. When he looks back down he's dismayed to find that Chris has pulled the waistband of his pants beneath his balls and is rubbing his heavy cock along the crease of Tom's arse. The sight alone is terrifying and somehow horribly arousing.

"We can't, we can't," Tom says, reaching for Chris' wrist in fear that he's about to be penetrated with no preparation, but Chris only grabs Tom's muddy hand and presses it to Tom's buttock, encouraging him without words to hold himself open. Tom sobs even as he does it. "Chris, you can't-"

He breaks off into a surprised cry as Chris dips his head quickly, the objection dying on his lips as large, rough hands spread him open further and, without preamble, Chris' hot, wet tongue swipes across his exposed hole. He gurgles out a moan, dropping his head back against the ground.

It's undoubtedly unfair, that all of the things he's dreamed about are being done to him for the first time here, in front of a hundred people by a man who can't even open a banana, and yet Tom has come to feel such an intense bond with Chris that it almost doesn't matter, that the oddly sweet kitten-licks against his hole only serve to make heat pool in his stomach. It's like a kiss, filthy and intimate, as Chris pushes his tongue inside, pulling back to swirl his tongue around the rim before opening his mouth wide and shoving his tongue in again.

Tom can barely breathe, eyelids closing to shut out the bright white bulbs high above, blood thrumming behind his ears, and all of it serving to shut out everything that isn't Chris' hands and mouth on Tom's sensitive skin. If he tried, if he really tried, he could probably even pretend they were lovers in a bedroom somewhere.

He can feel himself opening more and more for Chris' tongue, can feel himself getting sloppy and slick with drool as Chris works himself deeper with enthusiasm. It's the most pleasurable sensation he's ever experienced and yet he knows, with absolute certainty, that it won't be enough to please Yellow Teeth and his sadistic customers. They want the real thing, they want to see the alpha mount his plaything, and even beyond how good it feels Tom has enough mind to be grateful for how well Chris is working him open.

It won't be enough to ease him inside completely though, Chris' cock is girthy, but as Tom's cock begins to throb with each thrust of Chris' tongue he gets an idea.

"Make me come," he says, loud enough that Chris stops and lifts his head, his beard and lips shining with spit. Tom nods his encouragement and, wiping the mud off his hands onto his t-shirt, takes hold of his cock. Precum has slicked the tip and he fucks up into it, groaning as Chris' tongue gets back to work. He's almost certain that Chris didn't understand him, is just tonguefucking him because he wants to, but either way works for Tom, each time Chris forces his stiff tongue inside Tom strokes, feeling the cold night air against the tip of his cock like a kiss.

"Yeah, that's it, just a little more," he gasps, humping his arse up against Chris' mouth and fisting at his cock in rapid, desperate strokes. The sooner he comes the better, and so he tries to let go of everything else, gritting his teeth and fucking into his fist until his arm starts to ache from it. "Yes, yes, yes," he grits out, feeling Chris press his tongue so deep that his teeth scrape lightly at the rim of his hole, careless, and yet it's all he needs.

He comes in spurts on his own hand and stomach, legs tightening around Chris' wide shoulders as he gives in to short convulsions, sucking in air like he's choking. Chris doesn't stop at first, though he does lift his eyes as if wondering what the hell Tom is doing, but then his nostrils flare and he pulls back with suddenness, leaning forwards to press his face to Tom's hand.

Twisting, Tom shields his come as best he can, gathering what he can from his stomach and shoving his hand down between their bodies. He's shocked by how wet he is, by how his hole flutters around his fingertips, needy for someone's touch. He rubs his own come against his hole, hears Chris whine above him but holds his other arm out protectively so he can't get near. 

Pressing inside with two fingers is familiar but he's never used his own come for slick and is surprised by how smoothly they slip inside. When he looks down he can see that Chris is fixated like a dog with a toy, mouth hanging open as he watches Tom work.

"Just give me a minute," he grunts, pulling out to press in with three fingers. Chris barely glances up at his face. He fucks himself like that until Chris starts to get agitated, tapping his knuckles down on the ground again like earlier. "Okay, okay," he says in the lightest tone he can manage, like he's placating an excited puppy.

The second he pulls his fingers away Chris spreads him open again and licks his way inside, thick tongue curling deep, chasing the taste of Tom's come. He'll lick him clean if given the chance and then there will be nothing to slick his way inside, so Tom bats at his head with limbs still weak from his orgasm, shoving him away by the hair. "No, stop," he whispers, tutting.

When Chris attempts to move back in, Tom twists his arm beneath his own legs and locates Chris' thigh, fingertips brushing the hairs there as he reaches for his target. Chris' cock, when he finds it, is hot and hard in his hand, a line of sticky precum dripping from the head, and Tom gives it a squeeze, lifting his arse off the floor as best he can. It doesn't take Chris long to work out what he's getting at.

Tom still has hold of him, wrist twisted in an odd way so that he can guide Chris' head to his entrance. His stomach is in knots, his mind fuzzy with post-orgasmic haze and nerves, and when he feels the tip of Chris' cock catch at his hole he sucks in a deep, shuddering breath.

A broken cry slips loose from Tom's lips as Chris forces his way inside, desperate and without gentleness. Instinctively Tom tries to pull himself away but Chris' weight keeps him in place, folded almost in half and ripe for the taking as Chris grits his teeth and tilts his hips, pressing forward until he's seated himself fully inside.

Tom can't help but let out a strained gasp, and to his dismay the crowd seems to join him, forcing themselves back into his mind no matter how hard he tries to block them out, but Chris isn't deterred. He settles over Tom's chest, shoulders hunched, and Tom's knees slip down to hook over Chris' elbows.

They're so close, face to face, and Tom is surprised to find that Chris is focused on him, jaw clenched but eyes wide in something akin to awe. He doesn't move for a moment, almost as if he can't stand to, but when Tom reaches up to touch his face it seems to shake him from whatever haze he’d fallen into and he draws his hips back. The friction makes Tom hiss, the pull of skin on skin with too-little lubrication, but he tries to focus instead on the concentration etched between Chris’ brows.

It isn't easy, it feels like uncomfortable pressure deep inside of him coupled with the painful stretch around the girth of Chris' cock, but it's nowhere near as bad as Tom had imagined, and once he remembers to breathe he finds that it's not a discomfort he can't cope with. He's loosened from his own orgasm and tries to remain that way, even as he feels Chris filling him up impossibly.

He keeps his hands on Chris' face, mostly because it boxes them in, hides their faces from the crowd even as the rest of them is displayed in full. His feet begin to bounce with each thrust as Chris starts to take up a quicker pace, moving his hips with more force to suit his building need. His breaths are harsh and laboured, his eyes still wide like he's never felt anything so good, and Tom is able to forget his own discomfort and focus fully on that now that everything else is blocked out.

"It's okay," he says, more to himself although Chris' eyes do shift to his, and slips his hand down to pet at Chris' beard and parted lips. "Take what you need, it's okay."

At some point his fingers find their way into Chris' mouth, sticky with come, and Chris' teeth sink in beneath the knuckle as he begins to suck, chasing the taste with his tongue. He fucks with more desperation then, greedy and rough, and each thrust seems to knock the air out of Tom until he's making soft little sounds with every one. Chris seems to like it and begins to mirror his sounds, little frantic grunts that send vibrations down Tom's fingers. There's drool dropping down his palm and wrist too but he doesn't mind, finds it oddly intimate.

The pace, more and more frenzied with each passing minute, begins to stir a warmth low in Tom's stomach and he's surprised to find his cock swelling again, though not to full hardness. He's able to get his hand between them to palm at himself softly, and Chris makes an odd sound in response. Blinking up at his face Tom sees that his brows are drawn, eyelids hooded low over wide-blown pupils, and just moments later Chris is emptying deep inside of him.

He stays there for a long time, body tense but hips stuttering shallowly in and out, his whole body seeming to twitch with each spurt of warm come he buries in Tom's hole. His teeth, still clenched around Tom's fingers, eventually release as he stills completely, letting his weight fall fully despite the sound of discomfort Tom makes at the angle.

Coming back to reality, Chris begins to react to the noisy crowd, drawing back, eyes shifting this way and that before landing again on Tom, still sprawled on the ground. They're covered in diluted blood stains, both of them, and Tom itches at the feeling of it on his skin. The coppery smell lingers beneath his nose no matter how much he wipes his face, and all the while Chris is shifting his gaze around, growling sporadically.

"Come on," Tom says, shifting to his feet with a grunt of discomfort. He feels filthy, his back covered in mud and his arse uncomfortably wet, but he's able to take Chris by the wrist and walk in a half-waddle to the kennel. Chris notices after just a few steps and Tom squawks as he's unceremoniously hefted off his feet and over Chris’ shoulder. For the ten seconds it takes them to reach the kennel, it leaves Tom's arse on full display to anyone close enough to look.

Inside, Chris sets Tom down on his front, knees curled beneath him, and busies himself nuzzling at Tom's abused hole, letting out sleepy little sounds that Tom is unable to decipher; excitement or concern, perhaps. Glancing down between his legs Tom can see that Chris' cock is still hard and for a moment worries that he might try to fuck him again.

"Chris-" he says, reaching back, but Chris only takes hold of him by the wrist and forces Tom's hole to open around the thick of his tongue again. He moans, no doubt exhilarated by the joint taste of their come, and Tom moans too, soothed by the soft wetness of Chris' searching licks. He stays as he is, allowing Chris to have his fill, and feels the tingling buzz of sleep prickle at his skin, his own heartbeat a slow, muted thud in his ears.

He weaves in and out of sleep as Chris tongues at him, and between one doze and the next the flood lights are turned off, the drone of the giant generator giving way to the silence of night. He's nudged onto his side, warm body pressing close behind him, and in the haze of half-sleep he feels Chris sniff and nuzzle at his neck, feels the swipe of warm tongue behind his ear.

"Do you love me?" he slurs as his eyes slip shut again, and as he slips into a dream he imagines sitting with Chris, as he looks now, on the back steps of the Hemsworth's house, and looking out into the garden.  _ "Do you love me?" _ his dream self asks, and Chris leans over to press their foreheads together, smiling as he answers yes.

-

Day Five

The following morning Chris isn't in the kennel when Tom wakes up and so he takes a moment to reach down behind himself and prod gingerly at his sore hole. He vows to keep Chris away for as long as he can, maybe placate him with handjobs during bath time.

When he crawls to the door he finds Chris in the centre of the cage circling the bloodstain on the floor with unease. He's all animal when he's like this, all base instinct, and even when he's at ease he's still nothing like the boy Tom knows he was. Watching him, Tom remember his dream and feels his chest constrict. The other alpha could talk even when confronted with a fight, when all instincts had surely taken over, and yet Chris can't.

When Tom gets out of the kennel, hesitantly, Chris turns immediately from the stain and comes to his side. He seems pleased, affectionate in his way, dipping his head to nudge beneath Tom's chin. It's sweet, domestic almost, and yet Tom wants to cry.

"What have they done to you?" he whispers, lips twisting as he tries to disguise his frown.

He forces his tears back as he hears the familiar morning whistle, some tune he doesn't care to recognise, and then Yellow Teeth appears at the gate with their wash buckets. He looks altogether too pleased with himself, grinning wickedly at Tom as he unfastens the gate.

"Must be sore," he says, chewing gum. Tom clenches his teeth. "I've never been fucked in the arse but I imagine it's gotta hurt."

Chris tightens up at the mere presence of the man but doesn't react, pressing his forehead to Tom's temple so that his breath fans along Tom's cheek.

"When he first took a liking to you I wondered what use a wife was without a cunt, but...turns out you do have one after all." He lifts the buckets one by one through the gap he's opened in the gate. Then he looks up again with a horrible smirk. "And that entire crowd loved it. Think you might've found your calling."

The very thought that their captors made money from what happened makes bile rise up in Tom's throat, all sadness for Chris bulldozed by utter panic that he might end up as some kind of freak-attraction, getting fucked in front of crowds over and over.

Yellow Teeth yanks the gate shut and stands back as if he's contemplating something. "If it's him you're getting fucked by but me that's getting paid, whose whore are you?"

Tom feels his face burn so hot his ears tingle, certain that nobody has ever made him feel so small.

-

After lunch Tom keeps his jeans securely fastened in case Chris gets any ideas, but Chris seems content just to rub up against him and mouth at his throat and collarbones. Tom's certain that he's littered with bruises there but it isn't too tender and so he just tips his head back.

He spends some time that evening kicking dirt over the bloodstain because Chris still seems anxious about it, and then they lie on the kennel together beneath the stars. Tom thinks he finds Ursa Major, the bear, and follows the points with his finger.

"The head is this end and sticking up on this side is the tail. Do you see it?" he says, but when he turns his head he finds that Chris is only looking at him.

-

Yellow Teeth has nothing nasty to say the next morning and so he keeps his mouth shut, dumping their food buckets. He watches Chris take both, as usual, and grins as he walks away.

In a sudden, unbidden, vision Tom imagines himself pressing the cattle prod to Yellow Teeth's chest until he begins to convulse.

The anger passes and Tom waits patiently for his turn at the food, daydreaming about his mum's roast dinner and a pleasure as simple as the crunch of toast in the mornings. Vanity has him hoping they at least used a good picture on the missing posters, the one of him at Sarah's wedding maybe, with his bow tie hanging loose and his smile wide and genuine.

He remembers the Hemsworth's and their grief when Chris disappeared, their endless searching, their tears. He doesn't want to picture his mum that way, or the girls. He wonders if his dad came down from his new family in Scotland to help with the search.

Eventually Chris lopes over from his spot by the wall and hands the bucket over to Tom, licking offal juice and mushed up banana from between his fingers.

Twenty minutes later he's at Tom's back again, mouthing hotly at the meat of his shoulder. It's nothing but a mild irritation at first but just as Tom's biting into the second apple Chris begins to get more forceful about it, his noises louder and his nuzzling more insistent.

"How come you get so pushy every time you-" Tom starts, annoyed, but the words die in his throat as he realises. Dropping the apple into the bucket with a wet thud he feels Chris' teeth scrape lightly along his skin.

"Your food..." he whispers, shaking his head as he looks down at the grotesque mush he'd been picking things out of.

It all makes sense, suddenly, and Tom feels stupid for not realising it sooner. Chris' lack of memories, his lack of speech, his exaggerated symptoms.

"They've been putting hormones in your food."

He wants a reaction, a flicker of understanding,  _ anything _ , but all he gets is Chris pushing him down and clambering on top of him.

-

Tom doesn't sleep, lies awake and formulates a plan to the comforting rhythm of Chris' snores. He has to find a way to stop Chris from getting his food, to stop the drugs from getting into his system. He digs his fingers into the palms of his hands in frustration, upset with himself for not realising sooner. Of course Chris isn’t just a mindless beast, of course he hasn’t lost the first fifteen years of his life entirely. He can’t have.

Hope and anger burn anew in Tom’s chest as he thinks, going over and over a plan in his mind. He needs to break Chris of his routine, shake him out of the daze they’ve drugged him into, and make him realise who he is. Then maybe he’ll have a chance in hell of breaking them both free.

Chris’ arms tighten around him as he wakes, thick muscles tightening beneath Tom’s fingers, and he wonders at the damage Chris would do to their captors if given the chance. Part of him wants it, wants to see Yellow Teeth broken in half, but more than anything he just wants to go home.

“I’ll get us out of here,” he says, petting Chris’ arm, but Chris only clambers over him and looks at him with question. It’s cold without him when he shifts away on his knees and so Tom reaches for him, but he’s already been forgotten in favour of the gates opening. Sighing, Tom rolls up onto his knees and follows Chris out.

-

Tom doesn’t engage Yellow Teeth at all when he brings the food, hoping that without a chance for conversation he’ll just walk away, and as soon as he disappears back into the building Tom stalks over as quickly and purposefully as he can to stand over Chris, who’s already peering happily into the buckets. He tips his head up as Tom’s shadow falls over him, completely unassuming, and it gives Tom the opening he needs to snatch the larger bucket out of Chris’ arms.

For a moment Chris is dumbstruck, looking between Tom and the bucket as if he doesn’t know what happened, but when Tom attempts to back away Chris suddenly lets out a roar, smacking the smaller bucket away from himself as he gets up into his trademark crouch. Hunching close to the ground he snarls, eyebrows low over his intense eyes and his shoulders gathered up by his ears. If he had fur it would be on end. He's furious, there's no doubt about it, but Tom can't let his fear show - can't let Chris win and get to the food.

"Mine!" He shouts, kicking the smaller bucket just enough to cause a sound that makes Chris jump, snarling more. He doesn't back down, coming forward with his teeth bared in threat. It's only then that Tom thinks he might've overestimated Chris' attachment to him.

"Back off!" He screams, voice cracking, and hopes that the guards aren't going to come out and see what's going on. They can't know that he's taking the food or they'll find another way to get the drugs into Chris' system.

In a last-ditch attempt to assert himself he kicks out, thumping the inside of his foot against Chris' arm and, although it can't possibly have hurt him, Chris lurches away, folding his arm to his chest and aiming a most pitiful look in Tom's direction. He stays that way, looking betrayed, for the longest moment and Tom has to fight not to cave in and give him what he wants.

Eventually Chris takes the small bucket and moves off, sulking as he goes.

Tom watches him for a minute, watches him carry his bucket up onto the roof and turn his back on Tom to eat it, and when he's confident that nobody is watching Tom takes the bucket behind the kennel and kicks at the damp soil there until it starts to form a hole. Watching the dark earth shift he suddenly remembers being eleven years old and standing in Liam's back garden, watching as he dug a hole just big enough to bury a small box of Chris' old things.

"Do you want to say a few words?" Tom had said, mimicking something he'd heard his dad say when their cat Poppy had died.

Liam had shaken his head, looking down at the box. "It's not a funeral, Tom. I'm just burying it for safe-keeping. For when he comes back."

Tom had nodded solemnly and said nothing, but he had felt positive then that Liam would never see Chris again. Now, he's determined that he will.

Breathing heavily, he dumps the food - save for one solitary apple - into the hole and kicks the dirt back over it, angry with the men outside and frustrated with Chris for being too stupid to know when somebody is just trying to help. As he stamps down the dirt he lets all of his anger out, knowing that if he doesn't he's going to cry.

He drops down to his knees when he's done, breathing heavily and trying to gather himself. He's hungry and tired, his clothes smell musty. He wants to go home. He needs Chris' help but this is the only way to get it and it's made him mad. With a huff, he wipes his face, grabbing the bucket and heading back.

Chris has already finished the small bucket of food when Tom approaches the kennel, and he's clearly saved the apple for last out of spite. When Tom climbs up to sit beside him he shifts back with a quiet growl and holds the bucket tighter even though it's empty.

"You don't eat from the big bucket anymore, you understand?" Tom says, not loud enough for the men to hear but loud enough for Chris to know he means it. He keeps his shoulders strong and doesn't break eye contact.

Chris looks angry and confused, lips drawn down at the corners.

"Yeah, that's right," Tom nods, pointing at the small bucket. Chris glances down at it, forlorn, and when he looks up again it's from beneath unhappy brows. Tom feels mean. "Yours."

In defiance, Chris shoves the small bucket away so hard that it hits Tom on the knee, slipping down off the roof and loping away without looking back. He doesn't come near Tom again until bedtime and even that seems to be with reluctance, for warmth and because sleeping on the floor rather than the thin mattress is uncomfortable.

-

Day Nine

"Come on," Tom calls, aiming for playful even though the water is getting cold now and Chris has been circling him stubbornly for close to twenty minutes.

It's been two days since Tom started taking the big bucket and Chris isn't arguing anymore but he's not happy with Tom either and isn't subtle about it. He hasn't let Tom wash him at all and at night when they huddle together he's tense and stiff until sleep takes him, and always gone in the morning before Tom wakes.

This morning Tom had opted to wash himself first while the water was warm, aware of Chris' eyes on him across the space. The further he'd undressed the closer Chris had ventured, until finally he was just a few feet away and moving in a slow circle.

Dipping his hand into the soapy water Tom flicks his wrist towards Chris, laughing gently when Chris huffs but doesn't move away. It's clear that Chris wants to come and get a wash, but that he isn't going to give in easily. 

Humming thoughtfully, Tom glances around the fence to make sure that they're not being observed, and then lifts one foot to rest it atop the edge of the bucket. When he dips at the waist to to wet his hand again he knows that he's exposed himself to Chris and hears the alpha pause his circling. There's nobody around but them, and yet it still makes Tom blush behind the ears to reach back with soapy fingers and rub at his hole. The moan it elicits is unintentional but it works a treat because within seconds he feels Chris close behind him. He still doesn't touch, but he's so close that Tom can feel him breathe.

With a handful of water Tom washes away the soap quickly, much to Chris' displeasure, and whips around to face him. Chris stays where he is, looking unhappy, and Tom offers him a small smile.

"I knew you'd give in eventually," he says, but gently so that his tone doesn't inspire Chris to storm off again. There's no more comprehension in his expression than there was when he was being drugged, much to Tom's disappointment, but he doesn't lean back or run when Tom leans forwards and presses his nose against the line of his jaw.

Tom sighs. "I thought you'd understand me again by now," he murmurs, breathing Chris in. He smells like soil and a little salty like sweat, definitely in need of a wash, but Tom presses a kiss to his skin anyway.

It's almost a tender moment, until Chris reaches around him to grab his arse with both hands.

Snorting, Tom slips away to dip the washcloth into the soapy bucket. "Arms up," he says as he turns back, and although Chris obeys he does so with a clear roll of his eyes.

Tom pauses with the cloth held aloft, blinking at Chris' face. He waits for more recognition, more human expression, but there is none; only Chris staring back at him and waiting for his wash.

They go through the routine together. Arms, armpits, chest and sides first, before Chris spins to have his back washed, standing politely while Tom washes down across his buttocks and the backs of his strong thighs. He lifts his feet one by one for Tom to rinse, only to put them back down in the mud. It's comfortable and quiet, and when Tom stands up again Chris turns to face him and holds his hand out for the cloth.

Making sure to keep focus on their eye contact, Tom shakes his head a little, stepping closer. "Not today," he says, and slides his hand down Chris' abdomen until his fingertips brush wiry pubic hair.

It's all for him, he can't pretend otherwise. He's missed Chris' touch, so used to being manhandled and nuzzled, held down while Chris makes himself feel good. He's come to enjoy it, the closeness and intimacy of it, and Chris giving him the cold shoulder has bothered him more than he'd like to admit. He wants to touch Chris, wants the validation of having Chris hard for him, and so he slips his hand down further until he can feel the heat of Chris' cock as it grows interested.

Beneath his palm Chris' abs clench

"Yeah?" Tom murmurs, letting the corners of his mouth lift in a slow smile that he knows Chris can read. "Want me to touch your cock? Make you feel good?"

Chris can't answer him, but his shoulders begin to rise and fall more quickly, his lips falling open, and when Tom's hand slips down to palm at his shaft Chris presses into it, tips his hips forward.

He's not fully hard but he's getting there, and he hisses when Tom closes his soapy fingers around the head. He's much more affable then, moving close to press their cheeks together and fuck into the fist Tom closes around him, grunting softly into Tom's hair as they work together to get him off. Smiling, Tom tilts his head to the side so Chris can nuzzle and nip at him, lifting his other hand to pet gently at Chris' abdomen and higher to thumb at his nipples until Chris bites down hard enough to make him stop.

"Fine, fine," Tom laughs, lifting the offending hand in surrender, and as an apology he lets it slip low to cup and squeeze at Chris' balls, feeling them tighten as he quickens the movements of his hips. When he comes it's copious, having gone a few days without, and Tom doesn't twist away fast enough to avoid getting it all over his own hip.

Chris doesn't look apologetic at all, regaining his breath as Tom scoops water from the bucket in handfuls to wash it away. He tuts, but Chris doesn't seem chastised in the least so Tom only shrugs and crowds back into his space.

They've never kissed before, Tom's not even sure that Chris  _ can _ kiss because last time he tried he just got a tongue-bath for his trouble, but their mouths are so close that he only has to turn his head to brush their lips together. Mostly it seems to confuse Chris but he appears to at least recognise that it gives Tom comfort, and so he keeps his mouth there, lips still, as Tom peppers little kisses along his plump bottom lip.

It doesn't take long for Chris to get bored and curious though, and he holds Tom's head still as he sneaks a searching tongue between his lips, more carefully than Tom thought him capable of. It must be a sense memory, Tom decides, something coming back to him through the haze, because it becomes something like a real kiss. It's messy though, still too much tongue, and Tom pulls back to wipe at his mouth with a little laugh.

"We'll work on that."

-

Day Twelve

Chris' arm is a familiar weight around his waist, his warmth an odd comfort up against his back, and Tom wants to cry. The routine is maddening; wash, eat, sleep, repeat, and Tom can feel himself creeping nearer to hysteria with each day. Chris has been without drugs for five days and nothing has really changed. Tom keeps waiting on a miracle moment where he recognises sudden comprehension from Chris, but so far it hasn't come. Chris still spends most of his time at a crouch, still looks at Tom blankly whenever he talks. Once or twice he tilts his head, frowns just a little, but then seems to shake himself out of it. Five days after taking the big bucket and depriving Chris of his drugs he'd expected better. He'd expected  _ something _ .

Chris still nuzzles and wraps himself around Tom at random intervals in the day but he's much less  _ physical _ and Tom has to take that as a sign that the hormones are wearing off. It's the only sign he has, and so he clings to it. He talks to Chris more, just inane ramblings that pop into his head, but he's hoping that Chris will begin to pick up on some words.

-

Day Sixteen

Evening, nearly a week later, everything is silent except for the buzz of crickets in the near-distance, the occasional clang from somewhere inside the building. Tom is hovering by the gate, Chris not too far away yanking at the roof cover of the kennel no matter how many times Tom tells him to stop, when the sound of an engine carries along the pathway towards them. Chris pauses his destruction only for a moment, getting right back to it when one, solitary white van pulls up nearby. They've gone over a week without a fight, without a crowd, and Tom is on edge but Chris seems unworried. Still, Tom lets himself watch the van curiously. Whoever it is they're just unloading boxes, food probably, and they don't even give him a second glance.

"Dennis!" the man yells, hefting a bag over his shoulder and kicking the van door shut.

Tom's surprised when Yellow Teeth walks out with an irritated "What?"

Together they unload the van, and Yellow teeth -  _ Dennis _ \- looks over only once. Tom sees him turning just in time and dips his head, picking at the dirt beneath his fingernails. When he lets his eyes slide back over they're carrying the stuff inside.

"He doesn't look like a Dennis, does he?" he murmurs, glancing over at Chris to see him chewing a patch of the roof fabric with a blank expression. Tom stares back, his eye intent and focused, until Chris sits up a little, spitting out the tough fabric. Tom points to the van. "You see that? Escape. Home."

Chris blinks.

" _ Home _ ? Family?"

Tom sucks in an anticipatory breath when Chris opens his mouth, but if there's something he wants to say he's not able and before long he's retrieved the fabric from the floor and put it back into his mouth. To his credit, he does wipe it on his pants first.

-

Tom is just about ready to instigate his plan all on his own when he sees the first real spark of something in Chris, conveniently just before he's given up hope entirely. They're behind the kennel, Chris prodding with interest at the dark patch of ground that is beginning to let off a smell, and so Tom takes it upon himself to distract him. He plants himself above the patch and smiles, probably fairly maniacally, until Chris gives him his full attention, and then he rambles. Everything and nothing, each word as meaningless as the last, but at some point he makes reference to Liam and very suddenly Chris is right in his face. That curious, puppy-dog look in his blue eyes as he tilts his head.

"What?" Tom breathes, afraid to hope. "Liam? You know that name?"

Chris pushes himself off the ground with his knuckles, a little bounce accompanied by a grunt. He knocks at Tom's chest with the back of his hand.

"Liam is your brother. He's my best friend," Tom nods, catching Chris' hand before he can knock his chest again. It's large, smeared with damp earth, but when Tom squeezes his fingers Chris definitely squeezes back. Lifting his other hand up into the air, Tom stands and tries to approximate the height difference. Chris watches him with wide eyes. "He's about this tall, and he's been trying to grow the most pathetic beard for almost half a year now. It's like...it's like peach fuzz."

Reaching down, Tom fingers at Chris' dense beard.

"It's nowhere near as impressive as yours."

Chris only bats his hand away, tugging Tom back down by the hand and nudging for him to carry on. Tom isn't sure that Chris can understand what he's saying but he seems recognise the subject of the conversation, seems to have regained a sense of who Liam is. By the time Tom runs out of things to tell him the sky is beginning to spill over with a darker blue, nighttime wading its way across the sky, and Chris has huddled into his side for warmth.

He falls asleep that way, with his head tucked under the crook of Tom's arm, his lips parted to blow out light snores, and Tom's cheeks are itchy with the salt of dried tears.

"He'll be seventeen in two months," he says to himself, quietly so as not to disturb. "Wouldn't that be something? If I got you home in time for his birthday?"

-

Day Eighteen

They're pushing their luck, he's pretty sure. If they hang around much longer they're going to find themselves with another fight on their hands, or worse, and Tom can't afford to be physically compromised when it comes time to escape. He goes to great lengths to explain to Chris that they need a van, even though he's not sure Chris understands. They're just looking for an opening, a careless moment when one of their captors approaches on their own, and then he's sure they can get their hands on the keys.

He can't take on  _ Dennis _ and his cattle prod, he's quite sure of that, but none of the others seem as paranoid as that.

"He has to have a night off sometime though, right?" he says to the blonde mop of hair beneath his chin as Chris sleeps with his head on his shoulder.

It's only hours later when they hear footsteps around the perimeter, accompanied by a whistle that is much too cheery to be Yellow Teeth, and sure enough when they leave the kennel it’s the man from Tom’s first night, the one who told him that Chris was going to kill him. It throws Tom, seeing his face again, and for a moment he feels as small and as scared as he did in the back of the van begging for his life. Dried mud scatters as Chris hunches low beside him, almost as if he's dutifully waiting instruction, and it shakes Tom from his memory.

The moment the gate opens Tom throws himself at it, shoving himself into the gap and using his arms to keep them open. The man starts to yell, calling for help and shouting for Tom to move, but Tom doesn’t budge and from the corner of his eye he sees the man rear back with one leg up as if to kick him out of the way.

The blow never lands, Chris shooting out from under Tom’s arms to tackle the man to the ground.

The scuffle is entirely one-sided, the man doesn't stand a chance in hell, and just as Tom is convincing himself that he's happy enough to let Chris bash the man's skull into the ground he sees the van keys dangling from a coil on his belt.

“Wait, wait,” he breathes, touching Chris’ shoulder until he spins angrily around, eyes softening as soon as he sees that it’s only Tom leaning over him. “I need the keys.”

Maybe it’s Tom’s outstretched hand, or maybe it’s that Chris actually understands him, but within seconds the coil is broken and there’s a heavy set of keys landing in Tom’s palm.

“Good,” Tom says, tugging on Chris’ shoulder. “Good. Come on.”

He’s turning back towards the van when he sees Yellow Teeth stalking towards them, and for a moment he thinks nothing of it. Then he sees the rod in his hand.

“Chris, come on!” he shouts, pulling with force at Chris' upper arm until he clambers off the other man, knuckles red with blood. As soon as he spots Yellow Teeth he hunches low again, an unmistakable growl rumbling from his chest. 

"What're you doing out, Beast?" Yellow Teeth shouts, letting the electricity crackle, but then he sets his eyes on Tom. "This is your doing, is it?"

With a mixture of adrenaline and desperation Tom is able to pull Chris up and shove him up the steps into the back of the van, and just as he's about to get the door shut he hears Yellow Teeth just to his right. Everything seems to slow down as Yellow Teeth gets within reach, the prod outstretched, and when he depresses the button the sharp sting of electricity licks at Tom's neck. It's just a touch, just a moment, and then the van door flies open and impacts with Yellow Teeth's shoulder, sending him thumping to the ground, cattle prod clattering a foot or so away from his outstretched arm.

Chris doesn't dive out all animal and out of control like Tom expects; instead it's almost a  _ saunter _ , the slow, sure way he hops down from the van. It's more terrifying that way, purposeful, standing tall with his shoulders squared so that he towers over Yellow Teeth's sprawled form. He scrambles back on his elbows looking between Tom and Chris with more hate than Tom has ever seen, and then in a sudden movement he throws himself at the cattle prod. His fingers close around it, only just, but then Chris is on him, large hands pinning down Yellow Teeth's wrists. He wails, half-anger and half-fear, and Tom sucks in a surprised breath as Chris reaches for the prod.

"Chris, don't," he says, and it's clear that Chris comprehends him because he pauses, the muscles over his shoulders tensing visibly, but there's still too much animal near the surface, too much anger, and Tom looks away as Chris raises his arm. The sharp sound of the impact echoes around the space, followed by another and another, each sounding wetter than the last, and Tom feels short of breath. He knows that Chris has had the rod used on him, enough times for it to render him submissive, and he's not sure he can blame Chris for needing his revenge, so he turns to watch the building.

Nobody comes, and by the time Chris stops bashing Yellow Teeth with the rod his arms and chest are splattered with blood.

"Done?" Tom asks, feeling sick, just as he sees Chris lift the rod to eye-level and begin to slowly spin it in his hands as if looking for something. "Chris..."

He climbs off, crouching beside the bloodied man, and then presses the button. Yellow Teeth convulses with the hiss of electric sparks and Tom can't look.

He's able to get Chris off once Yellow Teeth -  _ Dennis _ \- passes out, and as soon as Chris is securely in the back of the van Tom draws back his arm and throws the prod as far as he can. He doesn't stop to hear it land, too desperate to get out of there before anyone else shows up.

It's only as he throws the van into gear and begins to speed down the worn path that he sees them. Cage after cage after cage, ten or more on either side, whipping by the windows as he drives. He remembers what Yellow Teeth had said about throwing him in with another alpha and he shakes, wondering how many alphas they've stolen from their families and kept like fighting dogs.

He tries to get his bearings once they're back on a proper road, tries to fix a location in his mind so he can come back with the police, or with whoever will listen. Following signs for the nearest hospital he's stunned when he realises they're not that far from home.

"Have you been this close the whole time?" he asks out loud but Chris, with his face pressed against the grate that separates him from the front of the van, does nothing but breathe heavily and watch the road as if transfixed.

-

He parks the van so precariously it could be considered abandonment, pulling to a sudden stop outside Accident and Emergency, as close to the entrance as he can, and diving out to be met with the alarmed expressions of paramedics and stray staff. Clearly concerned, they look him up and down as if to gauge his injuries, but he moves towards the back of the van and presses himself against the doors.

"You have to help me," he says, heart in his mouth. "I have an unmedicated alpha."

  
-


	3. From Here On It's Instinctual

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks everyone for sticking with this! Parts of this chapter were inspired by a GQ shoot Chris did in 2012, particularly these gifs: [here](https://31.media.tumblr.com/2da67b52020845fde341069d5ffd45de/tumblr_inline_nmex6h3PeX1sq8h9k_500.gif) and [here](https://31.media.tumblr.com/e7ebc4e87393c652621bba10824b965b/tumblr_inline_nmex6vbXGG1sq8h9k_500.gif).
> 
> This got very long, so the epilogue is posted as a fourth chapter.

He's unsure how well-equipped they are to deal with an alpha in Chris' state, and his worries are confounded when the van is immediately surrounded by staff. It's as though he can feel Chris' panic through the doors and he holds out his palms.

"He's harmless," he says, unsure if it's the truth. He can hear Chris beginning to sound upset, can feel the van rocking against his back as Chris shifts this way and that. "He's been in...in captivity, but he's been protecting me. You have to be gentle with him."

They're all looking at him as though he's insane, eyes shifting between him and the van as it begins to rock with more force.

"Please..." He's wondering whether or not he's done the wrong thing to bring Chris here, considers getting back into the van and driving to Chris' house, just as a female doctor with kind eyes appears through the crowd and slowly holds her hand out to take Tom by the wrist.

"My name is Amy, we're going to get you both inside nice and safely, okay? What's your name?"

Tom trips over the answer, but Amy only smiles and nods her encouragement as though she suspects Tom is also in need of medical attention. It's only then that he thinks about how crazed he must look, bruised and underfed in fortnight-old clothes. Looking down at himself he sees the blood from Chris' arms has smudged on his shirt a little.

"I'm okay," he nods, looking Amy right in the eye. "But you need to help Chris. He was kidnapped years ago and he's had drugs to force his hormones out of balance."

"He told you that?" Amy squeezes at his wrist and Tom wonders if she's covertly taking his pulse.

He shakes his head. "No, he can't talk. I know him. I know his family. He was taken when I was eleven."

She nods, gesturing for the others to back away a little.

"Okay, well let's get the van as close to the entrance as we can, alright?"

One of the paramedics climbs in and Chris runs to the grate and begins to growl, slamming his fists against it. The guy maneuvers the van quickly and Tom stays nearby the whole time, shouting to Chris sporadically that everything is okay. He presses his palm against the van as if somehow he can transfer a soothing touch through the metal.

Once the doors open Chris shrinks away from the staff who've come to help, reaching out for Tom and growling again when the same paramedic tries to separate them.

"Leave him, he's fine," Tom says, taking hold of Chris' strong arms around his waist and sliding his fingers down to pet his hands soothingly.

He's able to lead Chris inside the emergency room, ignoring the stares of the other patients as Chris continues to make a fuss when anyone gets too close. Tom can only answer half of the questions that Amy throws his way, can feel his skin pulling beneath Chris’ too-tight hold, and when he turns to look at Chris’ face his expression is one of utter panic.

They get bundled together in a small cubicle and Chris wraps himself around Tom possessively, shifting nervously anytime someone new enters the room. Amy observes them with a pointed interest the whole time.

"How do you feel, Tom?" she asks, lifting her small torch and attempting to shine it into Tom's eyes. Chris, curled around Tom's back, growls as though he considers the torch a threat.

Tom is incredulous. "Me? I'm fine. You need to help Chris. He needs medicines, I need to call his family."

“We need to examine you,” Amy says, slipping her glasses down her nose as she leans in to look more closely at his face.

Chris grips on tighter and rumbles out an annoyed growl, not stopping until Tom slips his fingers up to rub at his forearm. “I’m okay,” he assures her, petting Chris some more. “I don’t think he’ll take well to separation.”

She raises a brow, tipping her head to study Chris.

She asks all the same questions again, about Chris and how long he's been missing, how Tom had come to find him, and when Tom answers the latter question with total honesty the look she gives them both is one of utter heartbreak.

There are things about Chris that Tom can't answer despite their bond, such as his birthdate, his blood type, what dosage of suppressants he was on before he went missing. Each of the questions has him shaking his head blankly and stating again that he needs to call Chris' family.

"Okay," Amy nods, indicating the door. "There's a phone just on the nurses station."

She leans there and watches Tom hesitate, raising a brow, and he realises that it's a test. To see if he can get to the phone without Chris getting riled up. They fail it, spectacularly, because the second Tom tries to move Chris growls and tightens his hold, nuzzling his face into Tom's shoulder and keeping it there.

She turns and murmurs something to a nurse, who promptly leaves the room, and then she turns back to them with a smile that is obviously meant to put them at ease. It does the opposite, and when Tom tenses up so does Chris.

"Write down his number and one for your parents too, we'll contact everyone."

Chris gives Tom the room he needs to lean down and write, barely, and the second he's done Chris yanks him up again and back into his arms. Amy looks between them both.

"So you said that he's totally incapable of speech?" she glances down at her notepad as if nothing is amiss. Tom nods and her lips pull down at the corners. "But before he was taken he was fully-functional?"

Tom blinks at her. "He was fifteen. He functioned like a fifteen year old."

She doesn't seem to mind his impatience, writing down everything he tells her dutifully, and Tom is just starting to feel relaxed when the nurse from earlier appears in the doorway with a tray that houses a needle and a bottle of clear fluid.

"What's that?" he says, spying it right away, and instead of answering the nurse begins to unwrap the needle.

Eyes shifting to Amy, Tom shifts backwards until his back is pressed fully to Chris' chest.

“What are you doing?” Tom asks, panic setting in as the nurse tips the bottle upside down and begins to draw some of the fluid into the syringe. “No, don’t-”

Chris has been through enough already, drugged in captivity to the point of losing himself, and now the first thing these people are going to do is inject more chemicals into him. Tom wants to cry.

"Wait-" he says, but before Chris can see them coming two burly porters grab him from behind. The sound he emits is ferocious, completely wild, and he kicks out towards the nurse as she comes near him with the needle in hand.

"Please don't-" Tom says, just as Amy begins to speak.

"He has several pronounced veins in the neck, we'll take the first one there and then establish a cannula site once he's been fastened down."

It's so clinical, so cold, and Chris grips at Tom's wrist while the medics try to pull him out of the way. His eyes are wild but not with violence, wide instead with what is clearly fear.

"Chris it's okay, they're going to put you to sleep," he says, looking at Amy. "Right?"

She nods, clasps his shoulder, and Chris struggles afresh. Tom feels his wrist bones creak under the tight hold, and then the needle goes in, and it takes less than ten seconds for Chris' hold to begin to falter.

"It's okay," Tom says again, and Chris turns sleepy eyes on him, eyelids dropping as his hold on Tom loosens completely, his body sinking heavily into the bed as the porters let him go, and Tom turns immediately to lean over into the line of his hooded eyes.

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry," he whispers over and over, petting Chris' beard and neck as he's dragged into artificial sleep.

The sob that slips out of Tom's throat surprises even him, and he takes Chris' hand in his as they mill around Chris attaching monitors to him. His fingers are caked with blood and dirt, his chest speckled too, and Tom turns to Amy.

"Did you call the police?" He'd told her everything he could remember at a rush outside, explaining Chris' appearance and attempting to talk her through where they'd been located. Amy points over his shoulder and on the other side of the window he can see two uniformed officers hovering. "Oh..."

He listens in a daze as Amy orders them to give Chris a bed bath, to make sure his parents have been called, to be sure to cuff him to the bed before the tranquilliser can wear off.

She's able to persuade him to leave Chris' side only after assuring him that Chris won't wake up, well aware that Tom is desperate not to leave him scared and alone. They head into another small room where a nurse and a different doctor are waiting, and Tom is surprised when the police officers follow them in.

They ask questions and take notes as he's examined, and at some point Tom loses track of whose question he's answering. He hadn't realised how exhausted he was.

"-sexual assault?"

The police officers are looking at him with clear interest but Tom realises that it was the doctor who asked the question. He stutters out a "W-what?"

"I asked whether or not we need to treat you for sexual assault," the doctor says again, and although he's clearly trying to be sensitive he's not doing very well.

Amy's still in the room, near the doorway, and she steps forwards. "Tom, because your friend wouldn't let any of us touch you we're concerned that his possessiveness is an indication of-"

"He didn't hurt me," Tom interrupts her. He'd thought that maybe they could keep it to themselves, the extent of what happened in the cage, but the doctors know more about alpha behaviours than he expected. He glances at the police officers before turning his eyes back to Amy. "The men who held us captive, once they realised that Chris wasn't going to kill me...they made us, instead they made us..."

Amy reaches out to touch his knee gently and the police officers, alarmed, begin to scribble more quickly in their notepads.

"But he didn't hurt me. I was able to...you know, prepare myself a little. The whole time, he protected me."

Amy nods, knowingly, and her pat on his knee becomes a squeeze. "And then you rescued him."

The weight of it settles over him for the first time then, the adrenaline seeming to wash away, and he feels himself begin to shake. His lips, trembling, part and he finds himself asking, "Did you call my mum?"

-

It's plainly evident when Chris wakes up because the whole ward is filled with the sounds of his pained roaring, the bed rattling where he's pulling at his bonds. Tom's instinct is to go to him but he's prevented from doing that and is, instead, sent to wait in the corridor outside the ward for his mum to show up.

He can still hear Chris from outside, his sounds now coupled with loud, unhappy mewls. Tom is sure that he's calling for him and it hurts his heart to sit by and let it happen. He presses the buzzer to get into the ward, but even when he argues that he can quiet him down the nurse at the desk politely refuses, telling him he's to wait outside.

So he does, with his hands pressed between his knees and his head hanging low, and tries to control his breathing so that he doesn't cry.

The door goes at the bottom of the corridor and he looks up expecting his mum, but instead he sees the whole clan of Hemsworths rushing through the doors.

He stands, knees unsteady, and the second Liam spots him he heads down the corridor at a run, launching himself at Tom with such force he's nearly knocked off his feet. They've never been particularly tactile friends but he squeezes so hard Tom worries he might break a rib.

"You brought him back," Liam is saying over and over again, breathless with relief and excitement, and when he pulls back his smile is bright and his eyes are brimming with happy tears. "Tom, how did you-"

Another ghastly roar sounds over Tom's shoulder through the ward doors and Liam's smile falters.

"Is that..." he shakes his head. "Is that him?"

Chris' dad buzzes through to speak to the doctors, leaving Liam, Luke and their mum with Tom, who explains almost everything to them, leaving out the more intimate details. They cry throughout with a mixture of horror and happiness, and Tom cries too, unable to help himself. Chris' mum pulls him close and tells him how sorry she is, and Tom thinks she means it even though without Tom's kidnapping they might've never seen Chris again.

"I'm not sorry," Tom tells her, wiping a hand beneath his nose and trying to collect himself again before his mum arrives. "I'm really not."

She cries again when he says that, pulling him close, and he isn't sure which one of them is shaking more.

-

The Hemsworths are taken into a side room to talk with a doctor, leaving Tom to wait for his mum. While he sits there Chris' noises die down, becoming sluggish, and when the Hemsworths file out of the small room they're informed that Chris has been sedated a little and they can try to go and see him in pairs.

They've only been apart for a little over an hour and already Tom is jealous of them, and worried that Chris will see them as strangers and find no comfort in the visit.

He's not allowed in to see how it's going so he sits with jittery knees until eventually his mum rushes in. She looks awful, like she hasn't slept the whole time he's been gone, and she cries almost as loudly as Chris was doing when she finally gets her arms around him. For long minutes they just hold each other and Tom allows himself to cry.

"Darling," she pets at his dirty face and pulls at his clothes, wiping her own tears with the back of her hand but taking great care to brush his away with the soft pad of her thumb.

-

Amy talks with Tom and his mum for a long time, gentle like she was before and still full of concern. She tells him that Chris knows his family but wasn't completely calmed by their presence, still looking to the door for Tom any time it opened.

"The nature of your relationship," she says, taking a breath, and in that space Tom's mum sits forwards.

"The nature of their relationship?" She looks utterly baffled, turning to him and shaking her head as if unable to comprehend.

"Mum, I-" Tom breathes, shrugging his shoulders. "I was put in there with him so that he could kill me but he didn't. He recognised me, somehow, and over time it was like..."

He can't tell his mum that within minutes of recognising him Chris had been humping him like a rabid dog, she'd never understand. She might never understand any of it.

Thankfully, Amy cuts in. "Mrs Hiddleston," she says, and Tom's mum doesn't correct her even though she's used her maiden name for years now. "Even on the correct medication alpha-humans can form strong bonds with people, bonds like lovers have."

Immediately Tom has his mum's eyes on him again, wide and alarmed. All he can do is shake his head. "It's not what you think. He didn't hurt me, mum. Anybody else would have killed me but he knew me. He kept me safe."

In his way, Tom thinks, when it mattered. Protected him from the water, from the other alpha, shielded him from the crowd and saved him from Yellow Teeth's rod, and he'll repeat it a hundred times if he has to, to make them understand.

Still, it's hard not to laugh a little at the memory of Chris' selfish moments, taking all of the food and using him to get his own pleasure whether Tom liked it or not. His shoulders shake with it and he must seem a little hysterical to them.

When Amy asks if he wants to see Chris he jumps up, but his mum looks sceptical. He takes her hand and tells her he'll be back, he's okay, and eventually she nods.

"Do I have to see him in front of the others?" he asks Amy as they walk, and she tells him no, just this once he can see Chris on his own.

Just this once doesn't seem like enough, but he'll take what he can get.

When Amy said that Chris wasn't calmed by the presence of his family she wasn't joking - through the glass Tom stops a moment to watch as Chris completely ignores them in favour of pulling at the fabric he can reach from his bonds. He's cuffed down to the bar at either side of the bed, the scars and marks that litter his chest have been covered with an ill-fitting hospital gown, and the blood and dirt have been cleaned from him with a cursory wash but his hair is still wild.

The change in him is immediate when Tom rounds the corner, his face brightening and a series of excited sounds tumbling from his throat as he sits up to greet him. Liam, closest to him, turns his head to see what has got his brother all excited and when he sees that it's Tom a little frown creases his brow.

"It's okay," Amy says from the doorway as Tom comes further inside. "Tom's on his way home soon and we felt Chris would benefit from seeing him first."

If Amy had thought that the Hemsworths would file out right away she was wrong, instead they all watch closely as Tom inches closer still. Part of him is embarrassed to approach Chris in front of them but he looks pitiful, pulling at his cuffs and straining towards Tom, and the most natural thing is to go to him. A momentary smile wavers across Chris' mouth and Tom is overwhelmed with relief, sagging into him, until Chris presses his face into the crook of Tom's shoulder and let's out a long exhale.

"Shall we talk a moment outside?" Amy says, and it occurs to Tom that she's probably about to have a similar conversation with them as she just did with his mum. About he and Chris. He feels himself burn behind the ears.

They go, all looking over their shoulder as they do, and only once Tom is sure they're not outside the window he tips his head to press his forehead to Chris'.

"Okay?" he murmurs, reaching to brush Chris' hair back and feeling Chris lean into the touch. "I know you don't like it yet, but it's better than the cage. You have to trust me."

Perhaps he's imagining it, but he's sure that he feels Chris nod a little.

-

His mum is silent on the way home, Tom is blinking back tears but if she notices she doesn't know what to say. He's happy to be going home, looking forward to taking a long bath and sinking into his bed, waking up to buttery toast and cereal for breakfast, to seeing Emma and grabbing her up into a hug, and yet Chris' face as he'd left, his worried eyes and down-turned mouth, make it hard for Tom go home with a smile on his face.

-

Walking back into his house is surreal, confusing, because his entire life seems to have changed since he was last here and yet everything is exactly the same. It's hard to believe that he was only gone for two and a half weeks.

His dad visits from the hotel he'd booked into, just to check he's okay, and there's an awkward hug and a pat on the shoulder. Emma cries so hard snot runs down her chin and Tom hugs her tight and manages to make fun of her for it in true big brother fashion.

His picture, not the one he'd hoped, flashes up on the nightly news along with the update that he has been found, but there's no mention of Chris or any underground alpha ring and Tom's mum changes the channel anyway.

Liam texts all night, some questions Tom can't answer and some he doesn't want to, but mostly he's able to give Liam the information he wants.

'Mum says we're going to see him tomorrow morning and do you want to come' Liam texts before bed.

It's a stupid question, but he doesn't say so, answering 'Yes please' before settling in to sleep.

Bone-tired, he sleeps like the dead, not waking up until his phone buzzes at 9.40am with a text from Liam that says they'll pick him up in twenty minutes.

He ends up skipping his buttery toast and cereal, rushing around to brush his teeth and get dressed, running his fingers through his hair - poofy because he didn't dry it properly before bed - and sitting in the kitchen beside his mum for five minutes until there's a beep outside.

She looks forlorn, puzzled by his rush to leave the house again so soon, but he only kisses her on the cheek and grabs an apple from the fruit bowl. Bouncing on one foot and then the other he puts his shoes on, running out. Liam's in the back and Luke turns to give him a nod.

"So he can't talk at all?" he asks, turning again as Leonie starts driving.

Tom shrugs even though Luke can't see him. "Didn't say a word in the whole timeI was with him."

Mrs Hemsworth reaches out to raise the volume on the radio, though not before saying, "It'll come in time."

-

Chris is only cuffed on one side now, and judging by the mess in his beard and the crumbs all over the trolley table he has attempted to feed himself.

They can't find Amy anywhere but a nurse comes in to give them an update, followed shortly afterwards by a Consultant who tells them that they're waiting on the results of some samples they took while Chris was unconscious the day before, and that soon they'll have a better idea of which drugs Chris needs to counteract his excess hormones and at what dosage.

He leaves them to it then, and Luke lifts chairs one by one out of the small stack in the corner and lays them along the side of the bed.

Tom pulls out the apple he grabbed, holding it out to Chris.

"He doesn't like-" Leonie says, just as Chris leans forward and takes a bite of the fruit right out of Tom's hand. When he grins juice runs down his chin and Tom laughs, reaches out to wipe it off. Leonie clears her throat and moves to sit in the chair Luke put out for her.

Tom does eventually take his seat, even though it's the furthest from Chris and it makes him grumpy. They talk to Chris as much as they talk to each other, although nobody can really be sure how much he understands. He's distracted a lot of the time, and after a while turns his back on them to sleep. Leonie cries again, and whilst Liam and Luke comfort her Tom feels like a spare part.

They stay all afternoon, and as they leave Tom promises Chris that he'll see him tomorrow even though he hasn't been invited. He'll cycle if he has to.

-

The next day Tom waits until midday before cycling to the hospital, surprised to find that Chris is alone in his room save for two burly male nurses.

He's shoved himself into a corner, mouth pulled down in a stubborn curve, and both of the nurses have crossed their arms over their chests, standing at a slouch to match the bored expressions on their faces.

"Everything okay?" Tom says, to Chris  
more than the nurses, and with just a suspicious glance at the men Chris slips along the wall to press himself to Tom's side in the doorway. Both of the men inch forwards, as if they believe Chris might attack Tom, but all he does is wind his arms around Tom's torso, whining into his neck as if he's annoyed.

His wrists are red and sore-looking from where the cuffs have been and he shifts them lower with a hiss when Tom tries to inspect them.

"What happened?"

Both nurses sigh but it's the younger of the two who speaks, sounding exhausted. "We've been trying to get him into the shower room for over an hour."

Admittedly, Chris is beginning to smell a little ripe, but where the nurses seem to think Chris is being difficult, to Tom it's clear that he's simply unsure, frightened. Turning in his arms, Tom wraps Chris in a hug and rubs his back. His hospital gown isn't properly fastened at the back and with a small laugh Tom realises that the nurses and receptionist in the station outside the door are getting an eyeful of his bare arse.

"Shall we get you into the shower?" he says in a coaxing voice, glancing back to see Chris' expression has grown sheepish. "Yeah? Before everyone has to start wearing nose plugs."

He expects a bit of resistance from the nurses but they just look at each other in some kind of silent agreement before moving to direct Tom to the room across the hall.

The receptionist seems a bit alarmed to see their feral patient being escorted without restraints but Tom smiles at her as they pass and she's quick to look back at her computer.

"Do you want us to..." the nurse says, scratching his nose. "I mean, do we need to come in?"

"No," Tom says, pushing Chris gently into the small, tiled room. "We won't be long."

Before Tom shuts the door shut the other nurse puts his arm in the way, frowning slightly.

"Are you his brother?" he asks, looking him up and down before looking over his shoulder at Chris.

Tom is certain that they already know he isn't. "No, but I'm just about the only person who's going to coax him into showering, so unless you want to go and tell your boss that you couldn't do your job..."

The younger nurse claps a hand around his colleague's bicep and pulls him away from the door, and he and Tom share a nod as the door creaks closed.

Tom turns to find that Chris has already divested himself of the hospital gown, standing naked in the middle of the small room with a ridiculous smile.

"Don't get any ideas," Tom wags a finger. "They're still outside."

It's easy to get the shower going, though the water does bounce up off the tile to wet his shoes and the bottom of his jeans, and once Tom has the temperature right he steps back.

  
He intends to stay back and watch, he's quite sure that Chris is more than able to wash himself, but Chris just steps beneath the spray and waits patiently, water raining down on top of his head. With a sigh Tom rolls his sleeves up and lifts the washcloth from the corner shelf, certain that Chris' smile is one of victory.   
  
"You'll have to start doing this yourself," he says as he steps as close as he can without soaking his clothes. Chris pretends he hasn't heard him, lifting his arms dutifully above his head in keeping with their routine.

Closing his eyes, Chris tips his head backwards into the water flow as Tom washes his underarms and chest, giving Tom a chance to study his face. He seems less tense in here, with the warm water beating down on his shoulders and Tom sweeping the cloth along his collarbone, down his arm. Without even opening his eyes he holds out his palm once Tom reaches it, and Tom wipes away dirt from the creases for what he hopes is the last time.

It's peaceful, somehow, to be doing this again, and Tom lets himself enjoy it, knowing that soon enough Chris should be back to some semblance of his old self and will no longer require someone to bathe him.

  
Just like in the cage, once Tom lowers the cloth to wash at Chris' abdomen he tilts his hips forward, cock semi-hard, waiting for Tom to take it in hand.   
  
"I can't do that here," Tom tells him gently as he tries not to laugh. He holds out the washcloth for Chris to take, but Chris only glances down at it before batting it out of Tom's hand.

It hits the floor with a wet slap and Tom's about to roll his eyes when Chris closes a fist around himself and very purposefully strokes from root to tip.

"No," Tom says, reaching to take Chris' wrist. Water pelts down on his arm and Chris meets his eyes, frowning. "No, you can't do that here either. It isn't appropriate."

But instead of heeding his words Chris only steps closer, out of the spray, chin dipped low as he looks Tom in the eye with determination.

Huffing out a little laugh, Tom takes a step back. "You don't intimidate me, you know."

Chris' cock is hard now, the pink head jutting out of his closed fist, and he takes another step closer, and another, until Tom feels the cold tiles at his back. He's about to object again, he really is, but then Chris presses in close and flicks his tongue against the corner of Tom's mouth.

The noise that escapes Tom's throat isn't voluntary, and Chris is clearly pleased with himself because he plasters his body against Tom's, wet skin sticking to the material of Tom's clothes and immediately beginning to soak through.

"Chris, we can't-" Tom whispers, but he can already feel the shift of Chris' arm between them as he takes up stroking himself again, and when he groans low against Tom's throat there's nothing to be done.

Braced against the wall with one hand he fists his cock, mouthing at Tom's pulse point, teeth scraping only to be chased with swipes of his warm tongue. The room is slowly filling with hot steam and Tom feels as though he can't breathe, penned in by Chris and sucking in deep lungfuls of the thick air, and yet he can't help slipping his hands around Chris' naked waist, just to feel his skin, the cut of his hips, his arse.

With Tom's hands on him Chris' breaths only become more laboured, more desperate, and when Tom inches up to nip gently at Chris' earlobe he feels him stiffen, buttocks tightening beneath Tom's fingertips. He stays like that until he's spent completely and then lets his weight fall against Tom's body, breath rushing out hot against Tom's shoulder.

Blinking in the fog of the warm room, Tom swats lightly at Chris' arse. "Did you come on my clothes? Chris?"

Chris isn't remotely apologetic about it when Tom pushes him off and finds the mess on the bottom of his already-wet t-shirt, even pressing himself up against Tom's back as he angles the material beneath the water to rinse it.

"Bloody brilliant," Tom huffs as he fastens Chris' gown around his now-dry body, and then he reaches to swing the door open.

He expects the nurses, anticipates raised brows when they see his soggy clothes, but it's even worse than that.

"Boys," Mrs Hemsworth says, mouth tight as she takes in the sight of them. Instinctively Tom wants to apologise, even though he's not sorry, and it must show in his face because she almost seems to soften, almost. But then Chris huddles up behind Tom, shrinking a little before his mother's intense gaze, and she shakes her head, stepping out of their way. "I think we need to establish some ground rules."

-

On Monday Tom's mum sends him right back to Sixth Form. His classes are three days a week but he's missed out and has to spend the fourth day trying to catch up on the work he's missed. He visits the hospital in the evenings, but as per Mrs Hemsworth's rules he and Chris aren't allowed to be left alone.

Every day Chris gets more responsive to his family, his mum in particular, but still none of them can challenge his attention away from Tom.

"Oh, here comes the golden boy," Mr Hemsworth sighs good naturedly when Tom arrives on Wednesday evening, and even Chris seems to think it's funny.

He's not bound to the bed anymore, and has loose bandages around his wrists where the cuffs had caused abrasions and he's taken to distracting himself by unraveling them and then wrapping them up again, over and over like a comforting habit.

The Hemsworths disappear for coffee and leave Tom and Liam with Chris, and for a little while they're just talking about classes and Liam's girlfriend Lucy until Chris slips up behind Tom and nuzzles into his neck, groaning low and pleased in his throat. Liam stops what he's saying, uncomfortable, but Tom only lifts his hand to palm at Chris' cheek.

"I can't get used to that," Liam says, shaking his head. He huffs when Chris doesn't even acknowledge that he's spoken.

Tom blushes when Chris bites down at the juncture of his neck and shoulder but he doesn't pull away. Some part of Chris understands that this isn't to be done in front of his parents but he doesn't seem to have the same inhibitions around Liam.

"So are you like...his boyfriend?"

Tom's laugh startles Chris, but Liam doesn't seem to find it funny so he collects himself, shakes his head. "I don't know," he says, palms up. "In the cage it was just us. Some part of him recognised me almost right away and he seemed to find it comforting. He...his only means of expressing his fondness was to-"

Liam wraps his arm around his middle and looks away, but he does nod, and Tom tries to be reassured by it.

Mrs Hemsworth is less easy to convince.

By the end of the week Chris is getting visits from a speech therapist named Dr Chen who brings with her a multi-coloured board full of letters and numbers. She talks to Chris like she's dealing with an adult rather than a child and although she doesn't get much response from him he seems to like her more than the other staff.

She makes them leave while she works with him, and Chris always makes a fuss about Tom going no matter how often it happens and regardless of the fact that he always comes back.

When she passes the family room after their session she stops to talk to them a little about what she's trying to do with him, how the board might help, and Tom stands to slip through the door and back to Chris.

"Tom?" Mrs Hemsworth says, lifting a hand politely to pause Dr Chen. "Could you give us half an hour with Chris, please?"

Deflating, Tom shuffles back to his seat. On their way out Liam sits next to him for a minute.

"She just-"

"She doesn't like it," Tom finishes for him. It's not like it isn't obvious.

"She is trying," Liam looks awkward for a moment, like he thinks Tom ought to be more understanding. "Honestly? No. She thinks you're too young and he's too vulnerable and she...she said she doesn't know who was taking advantage of who."

Tom tries not to get angry. "We were both taken advantage of, Liam, but not by each other."

"I know that," Liam argues, but Tom isn't sure if he's only saying it out of politeness.

-

Chris sits still long enough for Luke to shave his beard, playing with his bandages the entire time. It's shocking how much younger he looks without it, and afterwards all he wants to do is rub his smooth cheek against Tom's. It feels nice, new and familiar all at once, and Tom wants to kiss him but Luke clears his throat.

Nudging his head under Tom's chin, Chris lets out an unimpressed breath.

-

Through the window it's almost funny, how grumpy Chris is about the whole thing. Mostly he plays with his bandage strip and ignores Dr Chen, sticking his jaw out in defiance. She doesn't react much, a picture of patience, and that only seems to annoy Chris further. When, eventually, she slides across a piece of paper with large letters written on it he picks it up and puts it in his mouth.

Tom huffs a little, unable to help himself, but when he turns his head he finds Mr and Mrs Hemsworth staring at him as though not entirely impressed.

When Dr Chen's session is up she leaves the alphabet board behind and Tom finds Chris playing with it in the corner, hair hanging over his face as he seems to really study it. He doesn't look as Tom sits down beside him but he shuffles closer anyway, resting his head on Tom's shoulder at an odd angle that leaves his chin jutting out and shows off a tuft of short hair that Luke missed.

"What are you thinking?" Tom walks fingers across his wide shoulder and down his arm. "Will you...can you use the board?"

It's not really a question he expects an answer for but then he watches in amazement as Chris lets his finger slide from one letter to another until he's spelled out the words 'dont like'. Tom is so pleased he leans in to kiss him on the cheek, but Chris turns his head at just the right moment and their lips brush together. They each pull back, still and surprised, blue eyes meeting blue eyes for a moment that seems to go on forever, and then Chris tips his head forwards so that his lips press fully to Tom's.

It's warm and soft, full of gentle affection, and just as Tom parts his lips to deepen it the door creaks open. They each flash guilty looks over and find Mrs Hemsworth there, looking stunned.

She clenches her jaw, grits out "Tom," as if she doesn't know what to do with him.

"He just spelled something out using the board!" he says, mostly as a way of distracting her from her upset, but she only tuts and turns, leaving Tom to shout to her retreating back, "Leonie, he really did!"

-

They meet with Dr Chen and another specialist two days later to talk about Chris' progress and, to Tom's surprise, she isn't entirely positive about it. He feels defensive, frustrated by their lack of understanding, and so he raises his hand as if asking to talk in class. He's sitting on the floor by Chris' side, there to keep him company rather than to have any actual input, and so several heads turn to him in surprise when they spot his waving hand. Dr Chen gestures for him to talk.

"You didn't see him before," he can't help but say. "None of you did. He's improving every day, maybe not at the rate you'd like him to be but back when I first saw him he was functioning little better than an animal. He couldn't even comprehend when he was being spoken to."

Dr Chen smiles as if to placate him. "I appreciate that, Tom, but-"

"No. He's doing amazingly well. He's using cutlery and making eye-contact and he talked to me using the alphabet board just the other day. I wish you could all see-"

It's falling on deaf-ears, he realises, even Liam is sharing a look with his mother that suggests he wishes Tom would stop talking.

"Tom," Leonie says, somehow gentle and firm all at once. "Can we have a moment alone with the doctors please?"

Dutifully Tom nods, although leaving is the last thing he wants to do, and as he comes up on to his knees Chris reaches out to hold him by the seat of his trousers. Looking over his shoulder Tom is met with sad, questioning eyes, and he crouches back down to eye-level.

"I'll just be outside," he says with a nod, smiling when Chris leans forwards to nudge his head beneath his chin.

-

He's surprised to find Amy outside beneath the smoking shelter, and when she says hello a plume of white smoke drifts between her lips to disappear into the air. He's been thinking about her a lot, about her reaction the first time she saw them, and he thinks he's gotten to the bottom of it.

"You have an alpha in your family," he says, not a question despite how sensitive a subject some find it.

She looks surprised, but after a moment of staring she nods, stubbing her cigarette out on the top of the bin before disposing of the butt. Tom wants to ask who, but he doesn't want to pry and so he hopes instead that she will volunteer the information. A brother perhaps, maybe an uncle. Could be her sister, even. But when she smiles at him and lifts one shoulder in a shrug, it's not any of the answers he expects. "My husband."

Tom's shock must show on his face because she laughs lightly.

"People are always so surprised, but Daniel lives an entirely normal life, for the most part." She pulls out her cigarette box as if considering another but then thinks better of it and shoves it back into her pocket. "It's not without it's complications, of course."

"Of course," Tom nods, earnestly.

"But I love him, and he loves me."

"Is he-" Clearing his throat, Tom looks down to the floor for a moment to gather himself. He's not sure how much his next question will push her, or how much it will give away. "Is he possessive, your husband? Does he...does his animal side-"

"You know you're too young to be getting involved with an alpha," she interrupts, looking over her shoulder at the entrance to make sure nobody can overhear them.

Tom tries not to laugh, wrapping his arms around himself to fend off the cool wind. "It's a little too late for all that."

He's not sure how she will react, but when their eyes meet again she's nodding, mouth pressed into a thin approximation of a smile.

"I have full confidence that he'll gain the majority of his old self back, Doctor Chen says he's getting better slowly but steadily-" she doesn't falter even when Tom rolls his eyes - "but he's still always going to have urges that need to be handled, and you're still so young."

He's never appreciated being reminded of his age, it's something his mum does frequently when he tries to help make decisions.

"I know my own mind," he says, lifting his chin. He doesn't mean to be confrontational.

She looks sad, and as she passes him she pauses to rub his arm. "I know, but does he? I just want you to prepare yourself for every eventuality. Like the possibility of him regaining what he lost and deciding he doesn't want a teenaged boyfriend."

It hadn't even crossed his mind, and the thought sends him cold, the possibility alone creating a pang in his chest that blooms out beneath his ribs. It must show on his face because she takes immediate pity.

"Oh, Tom, I'm not trying to upset you. It might not happen...he does seem extremely attached. I just don't want you to take anything for granted at this stage. He's been robbed of his right to make decisions for so long...I know you wouldn't want to do that to him as well."

She guides him back inside, still comforting him with gentle rubs down his shoulder and arm, and they part ways at the stairs. Tom tries to take his time heading back up, pensive about what she said and yet desperate all the same to get back to Chris.

When he gets back to the fifth floor Liam is hovering by the vending machines trying to look as if he's there by chance.

"Tom!" he says lightly, as though he's pleasantly surprised to see him, but he's never been a very good actor.

Tom feels his shoulders tense up again. "What did Doctor Chen say?"

Liam has a look on his face like somebody trying to break some bad news as gently as possible. Tom braces himself.

"Both Doctor Chen and the Consultant..." Liam sighs, "they think he's not making enough progress because he's got you there grounding him to whatever he experienced there. He can't move past it because..."

As he trails off Leonie comes into view just over his shoulder, stepping out of Chris' room and looking over at them. Probably to add some authority to the conversation.

Tom clenches his jaw. "Because of me."

"Not because of you. Just that you're a distraction, a comfort that keeps him from really trying." In his defence, Liam does look sorry. "That's what they're saying."

"But he needs me."

"We can see that," Liam agrees, taking Tom by the shoulders. It's no comfort at all. "But isn't it better if he needs you when he's more himself? Just. Give it a couple of weeks, will you? Just to see if he improves any."

Tom wants to argue again that Chris has improved so much already, that they didn't see how he was when he was at his most primal, but one glance behind Liam at Leonie and the doctors tells him that it's not an argument he'll win.

"Well can I see him now?" he asks, looking back to his friend. "Just to tell him that I'll see him soon?"

They all file out of the room, Luke last, and when Tom walks in he has to stop in the doorway to take a breath. Chris is so calm, unaware of what's to follow, and Tom can't quiet the beat of his heart in his own ears.

"Chris?" he says, trying to smile. Chris lifts his alphabet board and points to each letter of Tom's name with a pleased smile before throwing it aside and scooting up on the bed to make room.

For all that he's lacking Chris isn't stupid, and he notices something is off the second Tom sits down. He tries to keep calm, to not upset Chris, but he can't hide it from him and within moments Chris is frowning and staring intently into his eyes. Tom tries to look away but Chris takes him by both wrists and forces him to face him.

"I'm sorry," Tom whispers, feeling tears prickle at the corners of his eyes. "They're making me leave for a while."

He doesn't want to leave him, doesn't want to be without him, and saying it out loud to Chris somehow makes it real. Amy's words about letting Chris know his own mind wind their way around his spine and pull tight, fear shaking him up as he imagines coming back to a Chris who has forgotten everything they've been through.

He feels selfish, for wanting Chris to remember it all. Perhaps it would be easier for him if he forgot everything, came back to himself with only vague memories of his kidnap and mistreatment and even vaguer memories of Tom, but Tom can't make himself hope for that.

He tries to stand but Chris won't let go of his wrists, pulls him down to eye level again and holds him there with lips pressed in a determined line. He shakes his head, so clearly a no that Tom can't help his watery smile.

He wants to cup Chris' cheek but the hold on his wrists is steadfast. "I'll be back soon. They can't keep me away, okay? I'll be back-" his voice breaks and his smile isn't fooling Chris at all.

Tongue clicking, Chris opens and closes his mouth, a whine seeping from his throat as Tom wriggles his wrists free. He reaches out again but his fingers just glance off Tom who has slipped out of the way.

He can't look back, can't see Chris' face or his resolve will crumble. Dr Chen is by the door when he turns and he tries not to scowl, squaring his shoulders and making for the door.

"Tom..."

It comes from behind him, a voice deep but croaky from disuse, and his heart leaps up into his throat. He turns back and Chris has slipped off his bed to stand beside it, mouth open around Tom's name, driven to speech in his desperation.

Tom lets out a gasp and rushes back to him, pressing himself into Chris' space and shaking even harder when he's enveloped in a strong hold.

Dr Chen clears her throat.

"Did you hear him say my name?" Tom asks, looking over his shoulder at the door, but she's unmoved. There's nothing he can do or say to convince any of them that Chris needs him, and he doubts that it'll do any good to admit how much he needs Chris in return.

He presses their foreheads together, holds Chris' jaw in his hands, blinking away tears. "Say that again?"

Chris stumbles on it, but tries again. "Tom."

"Yeah," Tom nods, and pulls back to kiss the corner of Chris' mouth. "Don't forget me, okay? Okay?"

Chris doesn't let him go easily, grip hard on his wrist as he tries to move away, and then Dr Chen says Chris' name with authority and he clenches his jaw but let's go.

Down the hallway Tom hears him yell, more human than the roars from before but full of anger. Something clatters, like a bed being tipped over, and when Tom looks back Dr Chen has stepped out of the room.

"Good," Tom murmurs to himself as he slips out of the ward. "Give them hell."

-

It's more than a month before he's allowed to see him.

For the first few days he texts Liam to check up but even though Liam is detailed and apologetic the responses seem empty, just a reminder that Tom doesn't have the authority to help Chris like he wants to. It makes his chest ache and his eyes sting and so he stops texting.

He's miserable in school, but his sadness motivates him to distract himself by going above and beyond the work set for him, getting praise from each of his teachers and his mum and even an email from his dad.

He eats lunch with Liam on the one day that their classes allow it but they avoid the topic of Chris, and Tom tries to remain interested when Liam goes on about Lucy and her college of choice and the charity swim she's doing to raise awareness for alpha safety.

What a fucking hero, he wants to say, bitter, but instead he tells Liam that it's great and signs the sponsor sheet for five pounds.

"You'll have to come and see her," Liam beams, and Tom shovels food into his mouth, thinking, how about you let me see your brother?

-

News about alphas being kept for fighting trickles into the local media on a drip-feed, and Tom gets home from class one day to find his mum in front of the television watching as one of the leading officers stands in the centre of a cage and talks to a journalist.

“All alpha-humans found on the premises were rescued,” he says, his face grim. “The majority of the perpetrators had cleared out but we were able to apprehend a severely wounded man who will be charged once he’s well enough. We’re doing all we can to trace the others.”

Tom doesn’t think his mum knows he’s there in the doorway, but then the camera pans away from the officer to show his surroundings and she gasps, asking, “Is that where they kept you?”

It looks exactly like Chris’ cage, his kennel, but Tom is sure that all of the alphas were kept in the same conditions and so there’s really no way of knowing. He shrugs when his mum turns to look, eyes on the television to see if maybe a picture of Yellow Teeth with be shown, but then the report ends.

“How is he?” his mum asks then, shutting off the television. Tom wishes he knew.

-

It's Leonie who brings it up, much to Tom's surprise. He's in the back of the car, having felt too polite to refuse the lift home she'd offered, when she looks at him in the rear-view mirror.

"He's doing so well," she says, pride clear in her voice.

"Almost full sentences," Liam adds, turning to look at him properly. It's not as awkward as it could be, and Tom nods. "He's still slow about it, but he's getting there."

They can't know that he wouldn't have made the same progress with Tom there, but it's not worth arguing now when he's so close to being allowed back.

"That's great," he says with as much sincerity as he can. "I can't wait to see him."

They both go quiet, Leonie's ponytail bobbing as she nods. "Maybe in a week or so."

-

'Pick you up at 9.40?' the text says, and Tom nearly drops his phone in his dinner.

His mum looks over at him, worried. "What?"

But Tom can't answer her for grinning, stealing the bread from Emma's plate and taking a huge bite that leaves her pouting in objection.

Despite his happiness he goes to bed and worries, thinks too hard, ponders the possibility that what they shared in the cage won't count for much anymore and that Chris will reject him now that he's not going on instinct alone.

The following morning he pours over his wardrobe like he's dressing for a date, does his hair as best he can, is perhaps over-generous with his body spray. He passes Emma on the stairs in her ballet shoes and ruffles her hair, ruining the neat bun.

"To-ooom!" she wails, turning back around to have it redone in their mum's bedroom. He's half way down when his mum makes the exact same sound.

The car journey is tense despite Liam and Leonie chatting the whole way, and it's not until they pull up outside that they both turn to him. Liam's eyes drop to Tom's shaking knees.

"Relax," he says in what Tom supposes is a comforting voice. "It's just Chris."

Tom nods, eyes shifting towards the sliding doors. He dreads seeing him as equally as he longs to see him, unsure of the reception he'll get, but when they climb out of the car he follows them. Tails them to the lift, past the vending machines, eventually coming to stop outside Chris' room.

"Tom..." Leonie says coaxingly, flattening her hand against the door. "He does want to see you."

His anger at them is gone, for now, and he can only nod.

The picture that greets him when he pushes the door open is nothing like the one he'd left; Chris is fully clothed and his hair is cut short and tidy, stylish, his beard still shaved, no evidence of his prior situation save for the scar across his eye.

He's looking down at the Men's Health Magazine in his lap like its a journal on quantum theory.

When he looks up his eyes widen, sitting up suddenly, and Tom's feels his stomach flutter.

"Tom..." he says, and it sounds full of the same fear and reservation that's bubbling away in Tom's stomach. Somehow it's comforting to know that he's nervous too.

Tom lifts a hand in a small wave, smiling. "Hi there."

Chris flips the magazine over so that's it's open but face-down, and then for a moment nothing happens. Tom stands dumbstruck in the doorway and Chris just watches him, squinting a little where the sunlight beams through the window.

Eventually he pats the bed, laughing a little awkwardly, and Tom steps further inside. He's surprised when Leonie closes the door behind him instead of following him in.

"Sorry it's been so long," he says, biting at his lip. Chris is so handsome, his face bright and his hair almost golden in the sun. "I...I wanted to visit."

Nodding, Chris pats the bed again, more insistent this time. Tom wonders if he really can talk as well as they said he can. He sits, as requested, lifting one knee up so that he can turn to face Chris.

"So..." he starts, but Chris reaches for his wrist, smoothing his fingers down until they're palm to palm, not quite holding hands.

"I'm sorry. For everything," he says softly, much more eloquently than Tom was expecting. His voice is lovely. "I'm sorry for what I did."

Shaking his head, Tom squeezes Chris' hand. "You didn't do anything. You kept me safe. You're not sorry for that, are you?"

Looking into his eyes Chris shakes his head.

"I'm not sorry for any of it," Tom tells him, as seriously as he's able. "Any of it."

After that they sit with their palms touching, quiet and staring at one another. It's odd, how different Chris' expressions are, how young he looks without the beard. When Tom licks out to wet his lips he catches Chris' eyes snag on the movement but then Chris turns his head and looks away.

Reaching over, Tom touches the glossy cover of the magazine. "You want me to help you with this?"

Chris glances down at it. "I can read," he says, sounding defensive, and then, "It's just a bit...scrambled."

Tom nods, biting his lip. In the centre of the cover is a shirtless man preparing to throw a basketball, his abs defined ridiculously by the motion and his long neck exposed. It leaves his chin looking large and his nostrils on display.

"You're much better looking than him," Tom says, conversationally, and when he glances up he wonders if Chris might take it as flirtation. Perhaps it is.

Chris smiles bashfully and reaches up to rub at his smooth chin. "Now that I've had a shave?"

Tilting his head a little, Tom really looks at Chris' face for the first time since sitting down. Although he looks younger on the surface, his skin smooth and his dimples visible when he smiles, the innocence of the animal is gone from his eyes and what's left behind seems a duller blue, exhausted by the comprehension of everything he's been through.

It seems natural to take his face in his hands but he suspects they're not quite there yet, and so he only smiles and shrugs, tells him sincerely, "I quite liked the beard."

-

Chris moves back into his old room, into his single bed which must seem like luxury compared to the mattress in the kennel and the rickety trolley-bed at the hospital.

Liam says he always carries his food off to his bedroom and won't eat in front of them, and Tom imagines Chris loping up to his room with his plate held protectively the way he would with the bucket.

Tom isn't allowed up there, they spend all their time together in the garden or the living room where Leonie can see them.

Liam joins them most of the time, but every once in a while he gets a text from Lucy and rushes off on his bike to see her, leaving Tom and Chris alone. Unspoken tension between them breeds awkwardness, lots of silence that eventually becomes laughter that they can't explain when Leonie asks what's so funny.

Regardless of her chaperoning it becomes clear to Tom very early on that there's still a charge between them, a bond and a desire that needs satiating. It's a relief and a thrill to catch Chris' eyes on him whenever he thinks he's not looking, to have his touches last just a second too long.

They sit side by the side in the living room, knocking knees, knuckles brushing. Chris leans close when nobody is around, just for a moment.

He's handsome and gentle but Tom knows that the imposing roughness from before lingers beneath the surface, that the power of the alpha thrums in his veins. He wants it as much as he wants Chris' gentleness, and each time he visits the house he feels more and more that he's wanted in return.

"Come up," Chris murmurs one day when Tom comes over and it's only Mr Hemsworth there. He's watching rugby, sitting back with a beer in one hand and the other over his gut, and when Tom looks at him with worry Chris only laughs and ushers him up the stairs.

When they were younger Chris wouldn't let them into his room but they snuck in once, when he was playing football with some friends in the park, and had looked through all of his things, jumped on his bed just because they could and found two extra large, ribbed condoms under his mattress. They'd blown them up like balloons and chased each other around the house with them, through the kitchen where Leonie had been making salad for lunch, before running straight into Chris in the hallway.

Tom remembers so clearly how he'd stood there in his muddy boots and gone near-crimson with embarrassment and anger, and how Leonie had said, with panic in her voice, "Boys, go upstairs."

That had been before Chris' hormones had settled, when he'd been prone to mood swings and violent outbursts. Back when Tom had been fond of him and frightened of him in equal measure.

Stepping into his room now, Tom can't believe how similar it is; with the same furniture and even the same posters on the walls, now hanging loose and bleached by the sun. Chris stops in the centre like he's not sure of himself now he has Tom up here, and so Tom takes the pressure off by taking a cursory glance around.

On the side he spots a muddy box, much smaller than Tom remembers it, and he wanders over curiously.

"Liam took me out into the garden and dug it up," Chris says, coming up behind Tom and flipping it open, beginning to poke around in it. "It's full of crap. One of those flat coins from an amusement park, a Lego man...an expired condom."

They both blush a little at that and Chris flips the lid closed.

Tom nods. "Yeah, I was there when he buried it."

"Of course you were," Chris laughs, but he goes quiet afterwards. Tom worries for a moment that Chris is thinking about how Tom is only as old as Liam, but his worry doesn't last long. Chris may be technically twenty one but he's got a lot of catching up to do, and so far he's seemed content to do it with Tom there.

Taking a breath, Tom steels himself. "Do you want to go on a date with me?"

He's imagined saying it a hundred times and none of them were quite like that, just a clumsy rush of words, but now that he's said it he feels empowered by it, glad to have finally got it out after weeks of dancing around the topic.

For a moment Chris says nothing, though he doesn't look entirely surprised. Then, slow, his mouth pulls into a smile.

"Yeah. I do."


	4. Epilogue

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to the lovely [thedreamscrystal](http://thedreamscrystal.tumblr.com/) who made [a gorgeous photoset](http://thedreamscrystal.tumblr.com/post/116089670854/the-bittersweet-between-my-teeth-by) for this fic.

One month later  
  
They plan to go to the movies but Chris pauses outside, shifting from foot to foot. He tries to pretend that he's just reading the titles that crawl across the digital display above the double doors, but Tom can feel the nervous energy thrumming out of him and steps close.  
  
"I think I've changed my mind about the film," he says, casually. Chris shifts his gaze down but doesn't say anything, waiting on Tom to make a final decision. It's been that way since their first proper date - a meal cooked by Chris' mum and served to them on a small table in the garden, candle in the middle and everything - and Tom doesn't mind. Chris is still getting used to the world again.  
  
He reaches out to tug on Chris' sleeve but Chris catches his hand instead, giving it a squeeze. The charge between them hasn't shifted since the cage, though they try their best to control it. Some evenings Chris slips his fingers beneath Tom's t-shirt to palm greedily at his stomach and hips but things never get far before somebody calls upstairs to check they're alright.  
  
"Yeah, let's go," Tom nods, not letting go of Chris' hand as they head back to the car. Chris doesn't like being outside so much but Tom likes it a lot, and hopes that as Chris improves so will his tolerance for other people.  
  
The car is small and an ugly shade of blue. It's Sarah's, but she's letting Tom drive it while she's away at Uni and he's glad because after his kidnap he hasn't been allowed to walk anywhere. It smells like flowers inside, a bright yellow air-freshener hanging from the rear view mirror, and Chris wiggles his nose the way he always does when he gets in.  
  
"Home then?" he says, rubbing his palms on his thighs, and Tom turns to face him slightly, oddly nervous.  
  
"What time is your mum expecting you?"  
  
Chris is twenty one in theory but having missed the entire back end of his teen years he's still in many ways a teenager, something which his mum is all too aware of and willing to exploit. He has the same curfew as the sun, and so their dates outside of Chris' house have to take place in the afternoon. Luckily Tom's back to three days a week at Sixth Form and can see Chris on Wednesdays and Fridays.  
  
Chris shrugs. "Five?"  
  
Tom bites his lip. Chris is still rubbing at his thighs and so Tom reaches out to smooth his fingers along Chris' knuckles. It's only just turned one o'clock.  
  
"What if...what if I'd booked a hotel room?" he says, looking at Chris' hands rather than his face. His knuckles are scarred from years of being dragged along the ground and Tom likes to touch them, to remember.  
  
Chris stills his rubbing. "Have you?"  
  
Nodding, Tom flashes his eyes up and sees a familiar heat in Chris'.  
  
"What for?" Chris whispers.  
  
The truth of it is that he loves Chris, loves him for everything he was in the cage and everything he is now. He can't imagine ever having such a bond with anyone else, can't imagine ever wanting anyone else's hands on him, and seeing him every day but being unable to touch him properly is something akin to torture.  
  
"I just want to-" he breathes, and then Chris dives across the seat to kiss him, heated and hurried and as if he's forgotten they're parked in town in the middle of the afternoon.  
  
"Chri-is," Tom laughs, trying to push him off, but Chris only grins and keeps on, moving his mouth down to Tom's neck. "So we'll go?"  
  
"Yes," Chris murmurs between kisses, "Yes, yes."  
  
-

Tom has to talk Chris into checking them in, sure that it'll raise questions if he does it himself. Chris huffs about it for a while, clearly nervous, but with a little encouragement he wanders inside with the booking details. Tom watches from outside as he approaches the desk with hunched shoulders, smiling when he seems to get the keycard with little trouble.   
  
Tom has to wait ten minutes for an older couple to head up to the lifts and he walks behind them close enough that it looks as though they're together. He gets out of the lift on the second floor and meets Chris in the stairwell like they'd planned, and Chris holds his hand as they climb up four flights of stairs.   
  
He's nervous himself and hopes that Chris can't detect the light tremor in his hand. He's not afraid that it will hurt or that it will be awkward, he's afraid that it won't be as perfect as he has imagined it. He knows that Chris feels guilt for their first time, for everything they did in the cage, and he wants to wipe it all away until Chris feels he has nothing to feel guilty for.   


The keycard baffles Chris for a moment, but by the time Tom reaches for it he's already worked it out and slotted it in until the door clicks open. Once again, Tom makes a mental note not to underestimate his progress.  
  
The room is inoffensive whites and beiges with a red band around the middle of the walls that matches the red curtains and pillows. There's a television at the foot of the bed and a neat, white bathroom to the left of the door; basic but more than fit for purpose. Tom had to pay for the whole night but they only have three hours, give or take, and so he wastes no time pulling Chris by the hand to seat him on the bed.  
  
Chris bounces a little on the mattress, like people do in movies when they walk into a hotel room, but his smile turns serious when Tom steps into the space between his knees. In sync they reach out to touch each other; Tom sliding his fingers to link behind Chris' neck just as Chris' hands come to rest at his hips.  
  
The air is thick with the same sexual tension that has plagued them for weeks, and Tom sucks in a deep breath as Chris leans forward to rest his forehead against his chest. His hands, large and rough with calluses, slip beneath them hem of Tom's shirt to rub at his hips, and Tom can't help but lean into the tickling touch.  
  
"Alone at last," he says into the quiet, and to meet his eyes Chris has to press his chin in the small dip of Tom's chest. Tom smiles, lifting a hand to run through Chris' short hair. "So what do you want to do with me?"  
  
Eyes slipping closed, Chris' nostrils flare as he seems to think about it.  
  
Dipping his head to an uncomfortable angle allows Tom to press his lips to Chris' forehead, and without opening his eyes Chris leans up to meet his lips. It's slow and unhurried, so unlike their kiss in the car, and Tom takes the opportunity to nip and suck at Chris' bottom lip.  
  
It goes on for some time, their need for each other growing more intense with each sweeping pass of tongues and each scrape of teeth, but Tom is starting to ache between his shoulder blades from the angle he's holding his neck at. He's considering dropping to his knees when he's suddenly wrenched off his feet and dropped unceremoniously to the bed.  
  
He's still laughing when Chris clambers above him with a smile, petting lightly at his neck in a form of apology. Tom nods, sighing deeply, and parts his knees, pulling Chris' hips down until he can feel the hard bulge of Chris' cock against his own.  
  
"Will you?" he says, tilting his head to expose his neck and offer himself. "Will you fuck me again? I have everything we need in my bag."  
  
It's in Chris' nature to react to such an act of submission, and the tiniest sound resembling a growl escapes his chest as he nuzzles down to scrape his teeth along Tom's throat. It sizzles down Tom's spine like electricity, the excitement and arousal of Chris making claim to him with full awareness of what it means, and he rocks his hips up again.  
  
Groaning, Chris stills his hips and climbs off, moving to root around in Tom's bag until his fingers rustle against foil. When he pulls it free he seems surprised to find that there's only linked sachets of lube there.  
  
"No condoms?" he looks into the bag and then back at Tom.  
  
"Oh," Tom says, shaking his head. It hadn't even crossed his mind, and he feels himself getting hot behind the ears even as his face pales. "I didn't think we'd need..."  
  
Chris presses his lips together in thought, lifting the lube sachets higher as if counting them. Tom would be the first to admit that he perhaps went overboard, but considering they went the first time without any he's not sure he can be blamed for being over-cautious.  
  
"So I'll...I'll pull out then," Chris nods, and Tom sits up straighter on the bed, knees still spread.  
  
"No," he says in a rush, "No, I want you to-"  
  
He doesn't know what he expects, but the way Chris' mouth quirks up into a smile takes him by surprise.  
  
"Yeah?" Chris says as he comes back to the bed, kneeling down between where Tom's calves are dangling over the mattress. "Inside?"  
  
When Tom nods, Chris dips down and presses his face against the cotton of Tom's t-shirt, into the soft flat of his stomach, and he stays there for a moment just breathing, like he's overwhelmed by the thought. Smiling, Tom slips his fingers down to play gently with Chris' hair.  
  
"We've got a few hours yet," he says. "We can take our time."  
  
Chris nods his agreement but even as he does he slides his hands beneath the hem of Tom's t-shirt and shoves it up under his armpits, and Tom lifts his shoulders to tug it over his head. He tries not to be self-conscious, this is the first time Chris has seen his body since the cage, but Chris doesn't even look, instead trailing the tip of his nose from Tom's hip all the way up his side, tickling as he passes the ribs, and pausing just short of Tom's armpit where he inhales without subtlety.  
  
When he pulls back the look on his face is all vulnerability, like he isn't sure how Tom will react, but it's such a familiar comfort that Tom's smile is entirely genuine.  
  
Reaching up he threads his fingers into Chris' hair again and guides his mouth to the tight nub of his nipple, arching his back into it when Chris complies. He's enjoying the attention there so much that he barely notices Chris undoing his trousers until they're being shoved down his thighs. Chris wiggles down the bed, kissing down the middle of Tom's chest all the way to the sparse hair beneath his belly button, shoving Tom's pants down over his feet, taking his shoes with them.  
  
Abandoning them on the floor Chris gets back up onto the bed, whipping his own shirt off over his head as he does. It's been months since Tom saw his scars and it's sobering for a moment, his eyebrows creasing as he reaches out to run a fingertip along the worst of them, one that curls over Chris' shoulder to marr his otherwise perfect pectoral muscle.  
  
Chris doesn't shrink away, but his eyes slip closed and Tom can't tell if he's enjoying the touch or reliving bad memories, so he sits up to lay a kiss there.  
  
"You're lovely," he says, bashful of his sappy language. He hopes Chris can tell how genuine he is.  
  
Using a gentle hand, Chris angles Tom's chin up for a kiss, and then he lifts the sachets and tears one free.  
  
"Will you do it?" he murmurs, holding it out between two fingers. "I want to see. I have a vague memory of last time but...I want to see."  
  
Nodding eagerly, Tom takes the sachet, tearing another one off for good measure. He wants to give Chris this, wants to give him anything he wants.  
  
Planting his feet firm and wide on the mattress he preps himself before Chris' hungry eyes, noting the more hurried shift of Chris' wrist as he palms himself. He shakes his head, biting his lip as he slips a third finger inside despite the slight burn.  
  
"Don't excite yourself too much," he tells him, rocking down onto his own fingers, and with a nod Chris plants both of his hands on the bed. He licks his mouth with intent, and with just a quick glance at Tom's face he slips both hands up Tom's inner thighs.  
  
Tom makes no protest as warm fingers prod at the sensitive rim of his stretched hole, and when Chris takes his wrist to pull his fingers free he lets both hands fall to the mattress beside him.  
  
Chris' fingers are thicker than his own but he replaces Tom's three with just two, letting out a long moan as they slide smoothly into Tom's heat. Flushed and struggling to breathe, Tom digs his toes into the mattress and rocks down.  
  
"Does this hurt?" Chris asks, though his voice is full of awe more than worry, as if he trusts that Tom would alert him to any pain.  
  
Shaking his head, Tom drops his head against the mattress. "It feels good."  
  
Chris hums, pleased, and pulls both fingers free from Tom's clenching hole, teasing the entrance with three fingers before pressing them inside until Tom hitches up a little.  
  
"Too much?" he's apologetic but he doesn't retreat, simply stilling his touch.  
  
Tom sighs, clenching lightly to adjust. "Just...go slow."  
  
He's sorry, minutes later, when he's desperate for a faster pace and Chris only holds him still and refuses to adjust his rhythm. He's enjoying himself, Tom thinks, despite the tent in his jeans.  
  
"Come on..." Tom sighs, rolling his head on the mattress. He gestures with his hands for Chris to come to him, and without slipping his fingers free Chris does.  
  
He kisses Tom long and hard, fucking him all the while with his three thick digits, and then with no warning he pulls free and kneels up to work his jeans loose. Tom sits up to help, already struggling for breath from the anticipation, and when Chris' cock bobs free he can't help but lean forward to mouth at it. Chris moans, rocks his hips into it, but before Tom can even really get a taste of him he's winding his fingers into Tom's curls and pulling him away, probably more roughly than he intends to.  
  
"Okay," Tom nods, lying back down just as Chris tears another sachet with his teeth and let's it dribble messily onto his cock, fisting himself.  
  
It takes little effort for him to pull Tom around to a better angle by the ankle, and then he's crawling over him, one hand beside his head to hold himself up.  
  
"Yeah?" he says, and Tom brushes already-sweaty curls from his forehead and then nods, bracing himself.  
  
Guiding himself in slowly, Chris groans, nudging little by little, pupils flickering almost imperceptibly from left to right as he shifts his gaze around Tom's face.  
  
"Hurts?" he says when Tom squeezes his eyes shut, but Tom shakes his head, lifts a hand to stroke loose hair behind Chris' ear. The pain is minor and it's good, he wants to feel it, wants to feel it for long after it's over. It's so much better than before, the soft bed at his back and Chris' movements slow and precise. He's taking as much care as he can, his jaw clenched when Tom blinks his eyes open again.  
  
"It's okay," Tom murmurs, canting up to meet the next thrust. "Go on."  
  
Crossing his ankles behind Chris' back gives him the leverage to meet him halfway, to rock his hips up in a greedy rhythm, needy for more. Chris' other hand, slick from guiding himself inside, slips around to palm roughly at his arse.  
  
"Talk to me." His breath is warm and laboured against Tom's cheek. "Tell me it feels good. Say something."  
  
Blushing, Tom turns his head to offer his throat, submissive, and when he feels Chris begin to mouth there he nods. "Feels good, big, I- ah, I've been thinking about it for weeks."  
  
"Yeah?" Chris huffs, obviously pleased, and, scrapes his teeth along the tendons of Tom's neck. "I didn't know when you'd want to- if you'd want to-"  
  
The rest of it is muffled as Tom leans up to brush his lips against Chris', squeezing his knees tight at Chris' hips and using his hands to angle his mouth down to deepen the kiss. Chris accepts it with vigour, tongue insistent and eager, as relentless as the thrust of his cock. Tom loses breath inside it as Chris ravages his mouth, pulling back to gasp for breath, and just as he does he feels a flash of heat curl at the base of his spine.  
  
He's educated himself enough to know that the feeling is Chris brushing his prostate but he can't keep himself from tensing with it, clenching down, and Chris lets loose a groan.  
  
"Ah-" he gasps, "Chris, do that again...can you-" but when Chris leans back his eyes have glazed over, his teeth clenched, and when he fucks in again it's with more force. Tom smooths his fingers beneath Chris' eyes but he only shakes him off, huffing as he tips Tom up by the hips to take him harder. There isn't much finesse to it, but every third or fourth time he hits the spot, causing Tom to cry out. If anyone is in the next room there's no way they can't hear but Tom can't find it in himself to care and Chris is lost in it.  
  
When Tom tips his head back again Chris groans, pleased, leaning down to press his mouth to Tom's neck once more. Deep sounds rumble from his chest and vibrate through Tom's body as he holds him still and fucks into him with deep, fast thrusts, and Tom is sure that the force would shift him up the bed if not for Chris' hold.  
  
The familiar sting of teeth has him hissing, and then Chris tenses up and growls, finishing inside him with a noise that sounds like pain.  
  
He's so lost in it, rutting more even as he comes, and Tom is hard between their bellies. When he's emptied himself completely he pulls out without much care, flipping Tom over effortlessly. Rough hands part Tom's cheeks and it's only when he gasps that Chris seems to remember himself. He pauses, though he holds Tom open.  
  
"Remember when I...?" he says, one thumb spreading Tom wider while the other presses flat against his wet hole, and Tom lets his face drop to the mattress.  
  
"Yes," he hisses, clenching the sheet in his fists. "Yes, please. Please, Chris-"  
  
And then he chokes on his plea as he feels the flat of Chris' tongue lick hot and wet across his hole.  
  
It's not instinct like last time, but curiosity, and Chris licks him with small little swipes of tongue. Tom feels some of Chris' spend trickle out and down his perineum and Chris hesitates where before he'd fought to lick Tom clean of it.  
  
"It's okay," Tom says, embarrassed. "If you're not sure..."  
  
But then Chris sinks two fingers into him all the way to the knuckle, slow and gentle, and Tom groans into the sheets as he feels more leak from him around the fat digits, and more still as Chris begins to fuck him with them.  
  
It steals his breath to be flipped back over, legs roughly parted and lifted until his knees rest on his chest. It's exactly as it was the first time, in the cage, and he keens as Chris tugs his fingers free and dips down to clean up his mess. Looking down between his legs Tom can only see his own hard cock, bobbing pink and unsatisfied, and the curious arch of Chris' brow as he presses his two, dripping fingers between Tom's lips.  
  
It's so unapologetically filthy that Tom's stomach tightens and he comes all over himself.  
  
-  
  
Afterwards they order pancakes and ice cream from the room service menu, and Tom hides in the bathroom when it shows up because only Chris is supposed to be there. It's delivered on a silver trolley with only one spoon and they share for a while before Chris shrugs and picks up a syrupy pancake with his fingers.  
  
He eats almost all of the pancakes but Tom doesn't mind, drowning the ice cream in the leftover syrup and moving to the other side of the bed to eat it. Within minutes Chris is crawling over to him and stealing some from his spoon, then leaning in to lick the sticky taste from Tom's mouth.  
  
They set an alarm for four o'clock and snuggle close, Chris pressed up against his back and breathing across the nape of his neck.  
  
-  
  
They drive home in the late afternoon, hotel paraphernalia stuffed into the pockets of Tom's backpack, and as they pull up outside Chris' house Tom laughs and presses his palm to Chris' grinning mouth.  
  
"Stop smiling like that! They'll know!"  
  
He feels giddy, feels like crawling into Chris' lap in the front seat and kissing him until they run out of air, but for now their afternoon in the hotel will have to be enough. They straighten their clothes one final time as they walk up the path, and before Chris can even get his key out his mum is there flinging the door open.  
  
"Boys!" she says, ushering them in. "How was the movie?"  
  
Chris has relearned a lot in the past months but the ability to pull off a convincing lie isn't one of them, and so Tom offers up a perfunctory answer about lack of realism and bad music during all the car chases. Mrs Hemsworth moves back into the kitchen and Chris reaches for Tom's hand, dragging him to the back door.  
  
"Mum, we're going into the garden!" he shouts, and the minute the patio door is closed he pulls Tom around the corner and presses him against the wall. His hands slips beneath Tom's shirt to palm at his hips as they kiss, heated and long until Tom's lungs begin to burn, and then the patio door opens an inch.  
  
"I know what you're doing," Mrs Hemsworth's voice carries out through the gap, and Chris laughs as he pulls away. Tom feels frustration curl in his stomach but tries to let it go. He knows that he'll never understand how it feels to lose a child for six years and find them again only to be expected to let them live their own life.  
  
Chris slumps down on the steps looking out into the garden, leaving space for Tom to sit beside him. Tom feels an odd sense of familiarity as he does, and for a moment when he turns to Chris he expects him to look just as he did in the cage.  
  
"Do you love me?" he suddenly says, surprising himself, and Chris turns to him with a plain expression, one that morphs slowly into a smile. Leaning over, he presses their foreheads together.  
  
They share breath, sweet like syrup and ice cream, and then quietly but surely Chris says, "Yes."  
  
-


End file.
